Three Men On Tour: 31

Harry fumed all the way to the Waterways museum. I stared out of the window.

“Something bothering you, old man?“ asked George.

“Alicia,“ I admitted.

George raised an eyebrow. “You worrying about the engagement party?“ he asked solicitously. “It’ll be easier than you think. These thinks almost organise themselves. The wedding itself mind you…“

“I don’t want to get married,“ I said quickly, before George could get lost in the joys of seating plans. “I’d make a terrible husband. I snore in bed, I don’t hang my towels up, I leave my toenail clippings in the middle of the bathroom floor.“

“Oh,“ said George.

“Oh,“ I said.

“You really don’t want to get married?“ he asked.

“No, I don’t want to get married. I’d rather eat my own foot.“

“Well what on earth did you say yes for?“

“I’m not sure I did,“ I admitted. “It just sort of happened. Or rather, Alicia happened. She pretty much said yes for the both of us.“

“Oh,“ said George again. “Tricky. Have you tried telling her you’re not interested?“

“Have you tried telling her you’re gay?“ asked Harry.

“I don’t want to break up with her,“ I told them patiently, “I just don’t want to marry her. I’m not ready.“

“Oh,“ said George for a third time. We spent the rest of the journey in thoughtful silence.

The canals, it turned out, really were beautiful. I had never thought it likely, but, with the sunlight shining over the dappled water and the gentle walk through houses turning to fields, I felt all my concerns turn insubstantial as the breeze.

Before long, we found ourselves ambling carelessly along the towpath, letting the morning heat warm our chests and faces while the commerce of the river drifted past.

“How about the Shakespeare gambit?“ suggested Harry. “Tell her you can’t get married until your older brother does.“

“Alicia’s met my older brother,“ I pointed out, “at his wedding.“

“I’ve got it,“ said George dramatically. “You’re an atheist aren’t you? Surely you can’t get married if you’re an atheist. Not in a church anyway.“

“It doesn’t matter,“ I told him. “I was baptised and confirmed before I really got a say in the matter. I may be an atheist, but as far as the church is concerned I’m a Christian atheist. Actually believing in God is apparently optional.“

We passed a Victorian pumping station. As far as I was concerned, it was a pile of brick indistinguishable from a garage, but I paused dutifully while George and Harry went over to take pictures. For someone so keen on going to see jet planes, Harry was enjoying himself immensely. George, commendably, was keeping quiet. Sometimes the best part of winning is not having to say I told you so.

A short while later, we found a convenient place to stop. We took off our shoes and socks and imagined ourselves stevedores and bulkers, breaking off from their long toil to eat cheese and drink beer in the sunshine. George, naturally, had brought sandwiches.

“Tonsillitis,“ suggested Harry, as we dangled our feet in the water and watched the boats drift past. “I once got out of a really annoying business trip with a well feigned bout of tonsillitis.“

“Not bad,“ I admitted. Harry grinned. “Except we’re not getting married until next spring, so I’d have to fake a sore throat and a temperature for over a year.“

Harry looked cross. “Now you’re just looking for problems.“

The sun beat down. We watched lazily as a barge made its way up the river: a riot of red and green with a jaunty name and flowers at every window.

“I’d love to live on a house boat,“ said George. “So romantic.“

“That depends on how you feel about chemical toilets,“ pointed out Harry. “It’s just a caravan that floats. I don’t see what’s so romantic about that.“

“You wouldn’t,“ muttered George, looking wistfully after the barge as it drifted away.

“I knew a guy who lived on a houseboat,“ I mentioned.

“Couldn’t afford a proper house?“ asked Harry. I shook my head.

“No, he loved it. Wouldn’t have lived anywhere else. Mind you, he moved to bricks and mortar in the end.“

“How come?“ asked George, surprised.

“Too much stress.“

“On a houseboat?“

“Yup. Someone told him about a fellow who forgot to moor his boat up properly. After that, he found his blood pressure rising every time he came home in the evening. Turns out, there’s nothing quite as stressful as coming back to your house every night and hoping against hope that nobody’s nicked it.“

We let the water wash gently over our feet for a while longer before George looked at his watch.

“Oh my,“ he said. “Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?“

“Why?“ said Harry suspiciously.

“Don’t worry,“ said George, “we’ll still have plenty of time to get to the Fayre. How long did you say it’d take us to get down there?“

“40 minutes,“ said Harry. “What time is it now?“

“Oh plenty of time then,“ said George. “We don’t have to leave for another ten minutes yet.“

“Leave from here or leave from the car park?“ asked Harry, sitting bolt upright and reaching for his backpack.

“Here of course. Don’t worry, it’s only eleven. That gives us ten minutes here and ten minutes to walk back.“

“You idiot,“ shouted Harry leaping to his feet. “It took us fifteen minutes to get here. And some of that was downhill. It’ll take twenty to get back to the car.“

“Calm down,“ I said. “We don’t have to get there the instant it starts. The thing’s on all afternoon. What’s your hurry?“

“My hurry?“ repeated Harry. “Did you see the girl at the craft stall? Did you see how pretty she was? She’ll have blokes all over her. And let’s face it, even George nearly managed to chat her up. You want me to give all those blokes a head start? I don’t even want to give them five minutes.“