Second Chances at Samphire Bay (Samphire Bay Village #1)

Chapter 1

Carrying the copper urn with great care, Jasmine stepped out onto the deck. She gently knelt down on the wooden floor and leant over the side of the narrowboat. Lifting the lid, she slowly tipped the ashes into the canal.

‘Goodbye, Tom,’ she croaked, face crumpled in grief. She watched the remains hit the dark green water and sink below. A slight puff of grey smoke wafted above. Was it her imagination, or had the shape of a heart formed? Then it, too, faded and disappeared.

Gone. Tom was gone. The love of her life, best friend and husband all rolled into one magical, perfect person, was in fact no more. He’d been snatched cruelly from her in an instant. It was inconceivable; too hideously tragic to be true. Except it was true. Her best mate – her soulmate – had vanished from her life forever. She was alone, a widow at the age of twenty-nine.

Jasmine turned to look around their beloved boat, aptly named Moonshine , on account of the first glimpse she and Tom had had of her…

It had been on a tipsy walk back from the pub one Saturday night. They had taken a shortcut home, past the marina and boatyard, when a full moon had shone a silver beam directly over the narrowboat.

‘Oh look!’ cried Jasmine, pointing towards the rather dishevelled, lonely looking vessel, begging for attention. They both moved towards the wire fencing of the yard to peep further in. On closer inspection, they spotted a sign marked:

Marina repossession – to be sold as seen via sealed bids above the

guide price

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Jasmine, followed by a hiccup.

‘What, you mean buy it?’ replied Tom, half laughing. ‘We don’t even know what the guide price is.’

‘Bound to be cheaper than the deposit for a house,’ she retorted.

True , thought Tom, but a narrowboat? They didn’t know the first thing about life on the water, only the rather idyllic sense of freedom one assumed when seeing brightly coloured boats chug merrily down a tranquil canal. But then again, he conceded, surely that’s just what narrowboats did: peacefully meander their way down the water, with no fuss, taking their time? He was suddenly hit by a mix of realisation and curiosity. Evidently, so was Jasmine.

‘Just think, Tom, we could salvage this boat and make it into something really special!’ She spoke with excitement. He looked back into the yard and narrowed his eyes in contemplation. ‘The money we’ve saved so far for a house deposit would surely more than cover the guide price?’

‘We don’t know that, Jas,’ Tom cautioned. ‘Plus, look at the state of it. It’s going to need one hell of a renovation.’

‘But even so!’ countered Jasmine with gusto. ‘It won’t cost the same as a house, or the rent we’re dishing out. Just think,’ her eyes glazed over dreamily, ‘our very own floating home…’

Tom stared at his wife and realised at that precise point that her mind was made up. When those big brown eyes held that wistful look, he knew there was nothing and no one who could persuade her otherwise. He ruffled her dark blonde bobbed hair.

‘We’ll come back here tomorrow, make some enquires,’ he tried to appease.

Typically, Jasmine wasn’t to be fobbed off so lightly.

‘I’ll go online when we get home, do some research.’

Tom smiled at her enthusiasm, but was a Saturday night, after a few beers, the best time to be making such an important decision? He was the more practical, sensible of the two. Whilst Tom loved Jasmine’s joie de vivre, he was always the one to counsel patience, ever the calming influence to her impetuous, spur-of-the-moment ideas.

Yet, as Jasmine fired up the laptop and went on the marina’s website when they arrived home, he too couldn’t help but feel a frizzle of excitement. They soon found the advert for the repossession. Reading it in full told them that the guide price was ￡12,000 and the ‘Closing date for all sealed bids to be received by Allied Yacht Brokers at twelve p.m. 1 May 2018. The specification of this boat may be incorrect, as we are not in possession of the full details.’

Tom’s hands ran through his auburn curls nervously. Should they? The first of May was tomorrow. Was this fate? As if reading his mind, Jasmine’s eyes widened.

‘This was meant to be, Tom! We were meant to see that poor narrowboat tonight and save it.’

‘ Poor narrowboat?’ laughed Tom.

‘Yes, it’s crying out for love and attention,’ she replied, then folded her arms almost in defiance, ‘and we’re the people to do it.’

So, the very next day saw the pair of them enter the marina yard, clutching their sealed bid. By noon, after much praying, wishful hoping, crossed fingers and anxious gasps, the ‘poor’ dilapidated narrowboat was declared, by Allied Yacht Brokers, to be the property of Thomas and Jasmine Boyd.

‘It’s ours!’ Jasmine cheered, on the verge of tears, hand clasped tightly in Tom’s.

‘What shall we call her?’ he asked with a smile down at her.

Jasmine cast her mind back to the previous night. ‘ Moonshine ,’ she replied.

The next three months were spent relentlessly renovating Moonshine . Aesthetically, the boat was in very poor condition, with a bad paint job all over and a very old, tatty interior. However, the structure was surprisingly sound. The metal hull was thick, with no corrosion, and the interior woodwork was well preserved and solid throughout.

The narrowboat was a cruiser style, which meant it had more outdoor space, a feature Tom and Jasmine were glad of. The interior furnishings were quite basic, making them easy to rip out. Although they worked together on the boat, it was Tom who undertook most of the preliminary manual work, while the interior design was down to Jasmine, who spent lots of time on Pinterest to create a cosy, yet stylish, home – all earthy neutrals, pale browns, greens and creams – with a Scandi-inspired kitchen and luxurious fireplace in the lounge. There was also an outdoor relaxation space on the deck where the couple could enjoy views of the open countryside and waterways.

Moneywise, it had been a no-brainer. Tom and Jasmine had spent a good chunk of their savings on the initial cost of the boat and a few thousand more on the renovation. They also had overheads to consider: the mooring fees, canal and river trust licenses, insurance and the Boat Safety Scheme, but compared to what they were laying out in rent (‘dead money,’ as Jasmine kept calling it) they were able to manage the finances comfortably.

As a freelance graphic designer, Jasmine loved the freedom of working from home in a job that brought her joy. It didn’t seem like work to her, letting her artistic juices flow when designing logos, brochures, adverts, magazine and book covers.

Together, Tom and Jasmine had created a beautiful snug home, which they were both extremely proud of, and rightly so. The friends who had scoffed at their decision to take on the ramshackle of a boat weren’t laughing any more, not when they saw the finished article.

Moonshine epitomised just what could be achieved with grit, determination and bloody hard work. She was a joy to behold with her indigo paintwork, complete with a streak of silver running down the side, representing a beam of moonlight, after its namesake. Everybody who stepped aboard loved the little narrowboat, which had been brought back to life with such care and attention; she was an absolute delight.

Until, tragically, all the joy had been sapped from her in one fell swoop. The heart and soul of Moonshine had been ripped out. It was no longer a home for the very two people who had saved her. How could it be, when there was only one of them left? Little had Tom known, that dreaded Friday night when he had stepped off Moonshine to join his friends at The Mariners, that it would be the very last time he’d be aboard his beloved boat. That it would be the very last time he’d call jauntily to his wife, ‘See you later!’ When in fact, he would never see her again.