“Last year,” Jim said calmly as he leant over the little outboard motor. “Last year when I did this, it felt like life wouldn’t ever be the same afterwards.”
“I remember when you turned up at the shop, and claimed to live on a boat and I thought you meant some kind of houseboat,” Amanda replied, calling to mind with affection the day that Jim had first come into her life.
“And it was a houseboat!” Jim protested. “Just not the sort you expected.”
“And if you want the truth, it still feels like home,” Amanda smiled. “Even as empty as she is. Let’s head for the island Jimbo.”

With that, they were off, cutting through the water at a good pace on a brisk morning. It was less than a year since Jim had first covered the journey in the newly restored Mayfly, the weather was different, and there was another person aboard, but that day replayed in his mind as he watched the now familiar scenery roll past. Then he had no plans beyond getting to Dave Harris’ home on the island, now he felt there was at last something more solid about life. Not exactly a certainty, but there was a confidence that he felt that things would somehow reveal themselves and resolve. Maybe not the way he expected, but resolve anyway. Standing in front of him, between the cabin doors, and leaning on the top deck was the reason for this.
“You look miles away Jimbo, you been drinking bilgewater again?” she joked, her hair unruly in the breeze.
“There isn’t any,” he smiled, looking to check that the work on the rivets had done the job.
“That, my love, just goes to show that I am right!” Amanda replied with a wink.

The run to the island was over all too soon, but the afternoon’s work was still to be enjoyed. By early evening the rest of the craft was ready for the moveable items to be restored to the correct places ready for any journey they may want to undertake. Most of the deed boxes that they had used as storage for anything from clothes to food were stacked neatly in the bungalow, and would remain there until required, but ropes, anchor and other sundries that turned the little varnished wooden boat into something more usable needed to go back aboard both for convenience and due to lack of storage ashore. A celebratory meal from Killer Ben’s chippy now seemed apt and dusk saw the pair returning to their home sharing from the newspaper insulated parcel...

The dream of drifting on water, like that of falling through clouds, is not uncommon, and is usually terminated by the dreamer waking with a start in completely familiar surroundings to the realisation that it was just a dream. The sun was out, the couple were amiably moving across calm water as if by magic. No motor was running, nor was there any rope to shore, just two people, a boat and...
“JIM! JIM! wake up! NOW!”

With more of a start than the normal finale of such imagination he was bolt awake to see Amanda less than an inch from his face, and darkness instead of sunshine.
“We’ve been cut adrift!” she shouted.

No more information was needed, and Jim was out of the cabin within seconds.

“We need to move… NOW!” he replied as grabbed the fuel tank, and scrabbled to connect the line to the outboard whilst Amanda cleared the canvas covers out of the way, pushing them hastily into the cabin. The order of choke, no choke, then half choke was second nature and the little motor, as if understanding the urgency of the situation, started without trouble. Amanda cast the big torch she had brought aboard around to get some orientation on where they were, which was drifting sideways, and rather too close to quite a large weir.

“Jesus!” Jim exclaimed as he put the motor in gear and swung the craft to point upstream before turning the throttle to full and disengaging the choke, hoping that the spark plug would not foul up due to his ham-fisted treatment of the thing. Although cold, it responded, pushing as much power as it had, first to halt the Mayfly in her journey to oblivion, and then to start putting some distance between her and the weir.

The roughness of sound mellowed slightly as the cylinder block slowly warmed through, and a little more power fed its way to the propeller. Amanda moved the torch around so that Jim could see the piling ahead, on which was mounted a large notice proclaiming the danger that they had come all too close to. Jim took the throttle back to a more sedate speed as they glided past the obstruction, close enough to clear the chain that crossed the channel as a further confirmation of the danger that lurked. From there the island was not too far and in a little over three quarters an hour, Mayfly was again tied up to the jetty, albeit with shorter lines but with an anchor thrown out for good measure.

“Thanks Mand,” Jim said with a distinct tremor in his voice. “You’re a gem.”
“You too. You just went for it,” Amanda smiled nervously, blocking the image of the all too fast approaching weir from her mind.

Almost as though they had both been standing in front of a neon sign that had just been illuminated for the first time the realisation of how close to death they had both been dawned simultaneously on them. For some time they just stood as their minds absorbed the situation, then came the embrace, almost long enough for Rodin to sculpt the two in stone. Silent, as tears rolled down both faces, they took in the fact that, as a result of both their actions, they were still there, as was the Mayfly which had not suffered so much as a single scratch.