The Boat Read Online Free PDF Page A

look in her eye. ‘After the wedding, of course.’
    She laughed, not quite sure which bits were the joking bits. But it didn’t matter. Sitting here with him making make-believe or real-believe plans made her happiness so acute it almost hurt.
    ‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked her, clinking her glass, his fingers brushing against hers, his eyes soaking her up.
    ‘Let’s go east,’ she said.
    Everything about her turned him on: how comfortably she wore her own skin, the way her top lip rested on her bottom one, the naughty glint in her eye when she looked at him, the way she wore her clothes, the woody smell of her. It was visceral. When Botham hit another six and she gripped his thigh and let her hand rest on his leg for a moment, he thought she might notice his stonking great hard-on. He’d had it for hours.
    When it was dark and they were middlingly pissed, he said he’d take her home on the Tiger Cub – assuming he could get it started. They walked around the corner to where the bike was. She seemed impressed with his handiwork, or pretended she was. He gave her his leather jacket and his helmet and did up the strap for her, his fingers touching her cheek. He wanted to kiss her then but she was too excited about getting on the bike and he knew he’d have to wait – he should have done it in the pub. He climbed on the bike and told her to get on behind him and hold on tightly, which she did. The Tiger started first go, the faithful beast.
    She hadn’t been on a bike before. She kept leaning the wrong way, which he didn’t like. She was clinging on to him for dear life, which he liked a lot, and she was screaming in his ear, which he also liked. It felt so good to be the wielder of thrills.
    Unfortunately, as they sped down Rocks Lane heading for Putney, he noticed a police car too late, right after he’d overtaken it. He turned left as soon as he could and ignored the blue flashing light in his mirror but when the car pulled up alongside he was forced to acknowledge it. The copper in the passenger seat was making that slow dabbing gesture policemen like to do. Johnny waved, signalled – or would have if he’d put the bulbs in – and pulled over by the church where the homos do it in the woods.
    ‘Don’t worry, Clem,’ he said, keeping the engine running; he didn’t like to turn it off in case it never started again. Clem didn’t look that worried. In fact she looked rather excited.
    ‘Here,’ she said brightly, rummaging around in her enormous bag. She’d never been in trouble with the police before but she wasn’t at all bothered. There was something invincible about Johnny. With him she felt safe, he was brave and fearless – he’d sailed across the ocean. ‘Have a pear drop so they can’t smell the booze.’
    He took one. He hadn’t had a pear drop for years, that sweet–sour taste of childhood.
    They watched the police car stop and the doors open. Two of them got out. One was on a walkie-talkie and the other, a tall bloke with a swanky gait, was putting on his helmet. As he approached, the shorter one started giving the bike a once over.
    ‘Turn the engine off!’ he said to Johnny.
    Johnny pretended he couldn’t hear him.
    The tall one joined in, ‘Turn the engine off!’
    ‘If I turn it off, it might not start up again,’ Johnny said loudly.
    The short arse took it upon himself to turn it off. Then he stepped back from the bike and began prowling around the front of it. ‘Well! Well! Well! What have we here?’
    He actually said ‘Well, well, well,’ as if he’d learnt it in pig school. ‘No brake lights? No indicators? No helmet?’
    No insurance. No MOT and no licence either, but that could wait.
    ‘No rear numberplate?’ chimed in the tall one. Johnny didn’t know why they were asking all these things as questions, but didn’t feel obliged to answer.
    ‘Can I see your licence, sir?’
    ‘It’s not on me,’ he said, to which the short-arse made a grand show of