Free Narrow Margins by Marie Browne Page A

and they’ll have another one here by tomorrow. We’ll pop in and fix it and you’ll be on your way.’
    I must have looked unconvinced because he continued, ‘No, no, really, they’re very good, the part will be in the office by tomorrow morning, you watch.’
    He looked so sincere I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t Kuranda sending the part I was unconvinced about; it was them turning up again tomorrow to fit it.
    The moaning and griping were interrupted at that point by a phone call from my mother to tell us that she and my father were bored and were coming down to see the boat; they would be with us in about an hour and a half.
    Argh no, not in this state – hmm ... hang on a minute.
    â€˜Great, we’d love to see you ... erm, Mummy darling, sweetie, lovey, most helpful mummy of all...’
    Silence, then a sigh, ‘What do you want?’
    â€˜You know that fridge you’ve got in the garage, the one you only use at Christmas?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Can we have it please? The one on the boat is a dud – along with every other bloody piece of kitchen kit in here.’
    â€˜What’s happened?’ My mother loves a disaster, and she always likes to step in and save the day – the trouble is she’s actually very good at it. (Mind you, dealing with my sister and me, she’s had years of practice.)
    â€˜Well,’ I moaned, ‘let’s just say, the kitchen was a bit of a cardboard cut-out and didn’t actually exist.’
    Mum laughed. ‘No problem, tell us all about it when we get there, us and the fridge. See you in about two hours – love you, byeee.’
    And with that she was off, marshalling my father into action. Thinking about it, he probably didn’t even know he was going for a two-hour joy ride, let alone do some major weight-lifting as well. For just a brief moment I felt a bit guilty on behalf of my gender – good grief, it’s no wonder men have sheds. Then the guilt was gone in the smugness of getting a free fridge. One more problem solved.
    During my phone call to Mum the engineers had made good their escape, and Geoff had his head stuck in the electrics again.
    â€˜Mum and Dad are going to be here about 11 o’clock,’ I informed him. ‘Do you want to have a quick run round to the chandlers before they get here and pick up your solid gold inverter?’
    He looked up, surprised. ‘Your mum and dad are coming down?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yep,’ I grinned, ‘and they have offered us the Christmas fridge, well, not so much offered as have given it up for the greater good – our greater good.’
    Geoff was looking at me and nodding, but I could tell his brain was still wrapped in multi-coloured wiring.
    â€˜Come on then, let’s go and spend a vast amount of money,’ I prompted, ‘and this thing better look like it’s worth it. I need a good paint job and a vast array of flashing lights for that price, oh and the lights better be blue or the whole deal’s off.’
    Actually the inverter was a mucky yellow and about the size and weight of a large shoe box filled with rocks. It had just two lights (red ones) and didn’t look at all like £1,000 worth of kit, but Geoff was ecstatic about it, and buried himself in the instructions, making copious notes until my parents arrived. He showed it to my father who took one look and brightened up as well; both of them disappeared into the engine room to play with their new toy.
    â€˜Well, that’s got rid of them,’ Mum mused gently. ‘Right, where’s my boy?’
    Sam, on hearing Nanny’s voice, had turned off the PS2 and was walking slowly down the boat, thus giving him time to formulate a huge list of complaints. He hadn’t had any sweets for days and Mum and Dad were always soooo busy, no one was talking to him, and there were no toys to play with, and