No Plain Sailing by Adam Rutter

credit: Adam Rutter

I was sitting on a bench next to an estuary overlooking the view of the toll bridge in the foreground, and mountains towering on the other side. Blue skies reflected in calm waters, yachts were anchored and ropes clanged against the masts in the wind. I felt the heat from the sun burning my shoulder blades, warming the thin fabric of my T-shirt. I spoke to my friend, Thomas, on my tablet. He called me all the way from New Zealand. The blazing sun made it almost impossible to see his face on the screen. Me and Thomas had known each other since we were at uni. He emigrated to the other side of the world in 2023. This was the first time that we got in touch after two years since he left the UK.

 ‘Hey Josh’, said Thomas, gleefully.

‘Thomas! Where are you speaking from?’

‘Auckland’.

‘Yeah, but where are you’.

‘In the same place where I’ve been for the last couple of years.’.

‘Wherever you are Thomas, it somehow looks different’.

‘I’m not sure if I follow you’.

‘Thomas, your head seems to be moving up and down’.

‘Oh? I’m on a boat’.

‘Ah’.

‘I sail round the harbour in it, now and then’.

‘D’you mean – you own the boat?’

‘I bought it five months ago’.

‘Cool!’

‘I’m getting closer to the shore now’.

‘That explains why I hear sea gulls’.

‘There’s sea gulls at your end as well Josh. Have you gone to sunnier climes?’

‘I’m on staycation’.

‘You know, I’m sure you’ve gone to sunny Greece again. You always go there for your holidays’.

‘Not this time’.

‘I don’t believe you’.

‘I’m somewhere hot, but I assure you Thomas, it’s not in warmer climes’.

‘So, where have you gone to this time?’

‘I’ve gone to sunny Wales’.

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘Nope’.

‘You’ve decided to go somewhere cooler, have you, Josh?’

‘Thomas! It’s thirty degrees here’.

‘Wow!’

‘And it’s gonna stay this hot for another three weeks’.

‘Another three weeks?’

‘Yep’.

‘Whereabouts are you? Are you at that place where you normally go?’

‘What place?’

‘Er. Ah! Tenby’.

‘No’.

‘So, where are you then?’

‘Penmaenpool’.

‘Where?’

‘That place outside of Dolgellau’.

‘I don’t know it’.

‘But you used to live in Dolgellau, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah’.

A car rattled on the boards, crossing the toll bridge before turning off at the top of the driveway. When the car came into view, it turned out to be a blue Ka going over a row of ramps as it glided past the George, the Third Hotel. The driver was a woman in her early to mid-20s. She waved at me, smiling. I put my hand up to her, returning a weak smile.

‘Josh’, continued Thomas. ‘Who are you waving to?’

‘I don’t know Thomas’.

‘Well, it’s obviously someone you know’.

‘Whoever’s waving seems to know me’.

‘An old flame maybe?’

‘No. I don’t think so’.

‘Are you sure Josh?’

The Ka pulled up at the car park. The engine cut off. The brake lights went out. The car door opened. I watched as the woman stepped out. Dressed in a bright blue top and a pair of shorts, she opened the boot, waving her hand at me second time round.

‘Hi Josh’, said the woman.

It can’t be, I wondered.

‘Josh’, began Thomas. ‘Has your computer gone frozen?’

‘Er, no’.

‘I heard someone say “hi” to you just now’.

‘Erm. Did you?’

‘I’m sure it was a woman Josh’.

‘It’s Annika’, I whispered.

‘Ooooh!’

‘Thomas!’

Annika walked over to me, carrying a suitcase, with a rucksack on her back.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Annika.

‘I’m taking some time off’.

‘Taking time out, eh Josh?’ said Thomas.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Annika.

‘Who’s what?’

‘Who’s that talking on your tablet?’

‘It’s me Annika’.

She stepped closer towards my tablet, looking at the faded image.

‘Is it...is it Thomas?’

‘I’m the same Thomas’.

‘Gosh! I haven’t seen you for ages’.

‘It’s been about eight years’.

‘No way’.

‘So, what are you up to these days, Annika?’

‘I’m working as a GP’.

‘Wow!’

‘I work at a hospital in London’.

‘What are you doing in Penmaenpool, Annika?’

‘I’m here to sail in my yacht. Josh is joining me’.

‘It looks like you’ve got your holiday fixed up Josh’.

‘I’ll just check-in at the hotel, and we’ll set sail’.

Annika hurried into the hotel, still smiling. George the Third Hotel had the appearance of a house: a long white building with gable windows and a veranda offering a vista of the landscape. Two cyclists rode past me, grating along a dusty path. A group of ducks were waddling close to the shore, flanking near the stone steps leading to the jetty.

 

Annika dashed back out, running towards the steps.

‘C’mon Josh. Let’s go’, she cried, summoning me to go with her.

 ‘You’ve got a trip of a lifetime, Josh’, said Thomas.

‘I’ll tell you what, Thomas’.

‘What?’

‘This yacht trip is not going to be plain sailing’.