The Tea Museum – Part 2: Quarterdeck

"It is very welcome," said Hannah.

The kiss was gentle and tasted of salt air. Oscar's hand, rough from tools, rose to her cheek. She laughed softly and kissed him back, and the old ship creaked around them as if in approval. The river slid past in the dusk, silver and black.

They ate supper at a tiny pub by the water, fish and chips and cold cider, then walked back along the towpath, hand in hand, under the lamps. At the ship's gangway, Oscar paused.

"There is a cabin," he said. "The captain's. I sleep there when I work late. It is... not very grand."

"I'd like to see it."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

The captain's cabin was small and panelled, with a brass lamp, a narrow bunk with a woollen blanket and a skylight that framed the stars. They undressed slowly by lamplight, laughing at buttons and a stubborn pencil in his pocket, and their love-making was gentle, unhurried and warm, with the old ship rocking softly in the tide. The river whispered against her hull.

In the morning, sun poured through the skylight. Hannah woke to find Oscar at the little desk with a mug of tea and a small wooden object in his hands.

"What's that?"

"A model of the ship. I have been carving it for a year." He held it out. "I think it is finished. I wanted you to have it."

She turned it in her fingers. The tiny masts, the delicate rigging, the name along the stern in tiny letters. And beneath, in even smaller ones: Hannah.

"Oscar."

"I added it last night," he said. "I hope it is not too much."

"It's perfect." She kissed him. "The board will have to wait eight months."

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