I walked back the way I came and headed for the houseboats. Violent waves riffled around. A building wind hummed among the ripped beams. I counted them. Nine barges. One of them burnt, a charred wreck.
The female flatboat owner stood in clear view, sweeping away some debris. She changed out of her previous outfit and wore a thick woolly jumper under figure-hugging denim dungarees.
"How-do-you-do, again."
"Hey?"
I introduced myself to her this time, and she told me her name. Clarissa Briggs.
"More sounds from the noisy neighbours?"
"Not a peep."
"Mind if I popped across?"
"Of course. May I come along?"
I agreed, and she soon joined me once she slipped on bright coloured Wellington boots, and I traversed the gangplank to the first dispatch vessel.
The timbers slimy and often fragmented, and several times I thought we would slither into the shallow water, lapping over the mudflats.
I clambered on before my companion and walked over, avoiding shattered bloom containers, a bent and rusted bicycle wheel, the dry carcass of a gull and an empty wine bottle. We hopped on to the stout tug.
"Hello? Anyone about?"
My voice echoed, bouncing off all the grimy surfaces, winding its way down into the dismal interior.
I called again, louder.
Still, no reply.
I reached the cabin's split doorway and turned backwards to lower myself down the smashed rungs of the narrow ladder which went into the cabin. The air cold and clammy, and smelt of ammonia and tobacco. Inside greasy, shabby, and abandoned. The mattresses strewn across the benches possessed foam spilling from their deteriorated edges, the ceiling damp and soiled. A blanket lay on the floor.
"How did they live like this?"
Peering in, she gave a little grimace.
"No, idea, but not long?"
"How long?"
"A couple of weeks, no more."
This coincided with the twitchers Reverend McNally found in the church tower.
I pushed the door open into a foul-smelling toilet, opening the cupboard doors.
"Hey?"
I called again. The place permeated loneliness and neglect.
"Enough?"
"Mind if I inspect the other deserted ones?"
"Go ahead. We can enjoy a coffee on my place, laced with a drop of whisky."
"Sounds ideal."
We resurfaced and continuing the search at first didn't appear possible. The next one along tipped over and brought its neighbour down. The two splayed over in the mud and rising water, their gangways ruptured.
"Be careful, appears unsafe."
"Our Russian friends might be on one."
"There'd be tracks."
"The tide would wash them away."
"Nothing but damaged and decaying woods. Who would come here?"
"Except a lovely woman and a couple of Russians?"
She smiled without humour.
"To elude an abusive ex-husband and a pressurized job."
I strolled on, coming to a huge cutter, put back together by a madman. A junk yard of disorderly objects — boards, galvanized baths, flower tubs, fence panels, sheets of corrugated iron, car tyres, nailed and bolted to the upper level. The board across unstable, dizzying, and swayed when I walked on the wood.
"Take care"
"The thought did occur to me."
Little more than a beam, with no railings, I stretched out my arms like Charles Blondin and tottered across. Once I stood on what passed for the deck, I found a half-open passageway, which led into the darkness below. I glimpsed the slow shifting glint of stagnant water beneath. A scent of seaweed and decay existed. I took a deep breath and eased myself down a few steps. I scanned around and spotted nothing I needed to bother with. I ascended upwards, gasping in the freezing air.
"Find anything?"
"Almost done."
The last of the hulks seemed respectable compared to its neighbours. The hull intact. I imagined its early existence as a coal-barge, transporting black gold from the deep-water ships into the estuary. Whoever converted this houseboat a generation or two ago performed a skilful job. With openings broken, the roof collapsing, and the tin chimney laying across the eaves, enough survived to suggest what attracted people here to the far side of the island.
Chaotic, distant, and isolated. With a fire in the grate and a storm raging outside, this boat should be a cosy refuge.
As I drew closer to the promenade, I stopped.
"Here!"
"What?"
I pointed at the path, which stood churned and muddy.
"Someone's been here."
She appeared doubtful.
"Perhaps. People come here with their dogs."
"Clarissa!"
I shouted, but my words got obscured in the gust. Nobody apart from my new friend detected anything.
"Let me walk across and check."
"Shall I help?"
I shook my head.
I went across the boardwalk and stood on the bridge, high and unprotected. I turned, and her mouth moved, but I couldn't understand what she articulated.
I held up a finger to convey I would only be a minute and twisted to try to find a way within. Not very nautical, more like a dinky wooden shack built on top of the barge. With the small windows, I couldn't tell whether they remained opaque or dark interior. I walked around until I found the little door. I turned the brass handle and the door opened inwards. I moved inside and faced many things. The first sensation, I thought I could be staring death in the face.