Free Muddy Waters by Judy Astley Page A

Cleo on her lap.
    â€˜At this time?’ Stella said, fetching her a glass. ‘Whatever was he doing harassing you this late?’
    â€˜Harassing’s the word,’ Peggy complained. She coughed and shifted her arthritic legs till the least painful position was achieved. ‘He said I couldn’t pretend to be out if the light was on. He brought another reminder that they want me off the mooring. It’s not as if I’m going to be in the way of their precious sodding bridge.’ She looked depressed and defeated, Stella thought, angry at council bureaucrats.
    â€˜They’re obsessed with suburban tidiness,’ Stella said angrily and then explained to Abigail who was looking bewildered but politely interested, ‘Peggy’s got the last houseboat left here, just by the end of our garden. There used to be about ten of them. She’s lived here for fifteen years, all wired up and more or less plumbed in. It’s absolutely no harm to anyone.’ The ‘plumbed in’ was definitely less rather than more, Stella remembered. Peggy had a fresh water supply but had long ago dispensed with the heavy and complicated chemical toilet, preferring to cut out the middle man, as she put it, and dump bucket contents over the side. ‘If ducks and rats can put shit in the river, I don’t see why I shouldn’t,’ she’d declared, leaving Adrian and Stella wishing she simply hadn’t mentioned it.
    â€˜The bridge is supposed to be much further round the other side, nearer to the ferry, so it’s not as if Peggy’s in the way. But they can’t build it till she’s gone because she’s keeping open the rights to ten other moorings that in theory could be claimed and then occupied.’
    Abigail looked puzzled, ‘And does no one really want the bridge? I’d have thought it would be a godsend, loads easier than turning that awkward great handle on the ghastly raft-thingy.’
    â€˜Well, if even I can still do it . . .’ Peggy interrupted scornfully.
    â€˜Perhaps what you really need is two bridges,’ Abigail suggested casually, lighting another cigarette. ‘One to connect the other bank as well. Wouldn’t that be rather nice? Especially for you older folks?’
    â€˜Over my dead and buried body. And I mean that. Do you know, he said I should be in sheltered accommodation. I told him I was, I was sheltered by friends.’ Peggy glared at Abigail and thumped her fist on the table before levering herself up and shuffling as fast as she could out of the door and back to the barge.
    â€˜You’ve upset her now,’ Stella accused Abigail. ‘She’s too old for fuss and bother and she doesn’t need any help to start imagining the worst.’
    â€˜Sorry.’ Abigail looked contrite. ‘Putting both feet straight in it seems to be a speciality of mine. I just can’t seem to help it.’
    Toby sat in a quiet corner of the pub with four of his friends and together they flicked through magazines salivating over the glossy photos. Girl students from the sixth form college perched cutely on bar stools with their tiny skirts stretched high across their thighs, swinging their legs and eying the boys, waiting in vain to be noticed and bought drinks.
    â€˜God, just look at the bodywork on that will you,’ Nick, a tall broad boy with a black ponytail was saying, ‘and check the bumpers.’ He passed the magazine across to Toby who groaned longingly, ‘What I’d give . . .’ he said.
    â€˜Not sure about the colour though. A bit washed out for me,’ he then decided after a few moments close inspection.
    â€˜Yeah, maybe,’ Nick agreed, ‘pale blue’s all right for polishing up and showing on the concourse, but a bit poncey for daily driving.’ He turned the page and found another VW Beetle. ‘What about a nice little 1302 in British Racing Green?