The Narrowboat – Part 2: Summit Pound
Mature & Silver·EN·2 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 2 of 2
They crossed the summit of the canal on a Friday.
Wendy steered. Alan stood on the bow with a windlass and a mug. The boat chugged slowly along the highest stretch of water in the county, a long green pound shaded with willows and glittering with dragonflies. Rushes whispered at the banks. A heron lifted from the reeds. The afternoon was as soft as honey.
"We made it," said Wendy.
"You made it."
"We made it. I would still be in the first lock."
"You'd have worked it out."
"I'd have worked it out around October."
He laughed. She had learned a great deal in a fortnight: locks, paddles, mooring ropes, the right way to coil a line. She had learned that Alan was a retired railway engineer, a widower of three years, with a gentle humour and a habit of humming old songs badly. He had learned that she hated mornings and loved bad novels.
They moored in a quiet spot at dusk, under an oak, with the canal still as a mirror. Wendy lit the little stove and made tea. They sat together on the stern deck, wrapped in blankets, while the light faded. A moorhen scuttled across the water. A bat flickered over the surface. The evening smelled of wet grass and woodsmoke.
"I wasn't sure I'd enjoy it," said Wendy. "After Frank."
"I know."
"I thought it would be lonely."
"Is it?"
"No." She looked at him. "It isn't."
His eyes, in the soft light, were kind and a little shy. The kettle ticked on the stove.
"Can I ask you something?" said Alan.
"Yes."
"May I put my arm round you? It is getting cold."
"Yes," said Wendy. "And may I kiss you, while you're at it?"
"Yes," said Alan, going pink. "And if you say stop, you must let me drive the next lock."
"That's not a punishment."
"I thought not."
She kissed him, warm and gentle, a hand against his white moustache. He kissed her back with a slow, trembling tenderness, tasting of tea and woodsmoke. The first stars glimmered above the oak. The boat rocked once, softly, and was still.
When they parted, both of them were smiling.
"Green?" he asked.
"Green," said Wendy. "Very green."
They share a mooring now. The boat has two names on its bow, one in each hand. They have never once been in a hurry.
More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom
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