‘Good God, this is a shock,’ she had said, as mildly as she could manage. It wasn’t the fact he’d cut his hair that bothered her; it was his failure to mention it beforehand.
‘I don’t see why,’ Charlie replied curtly. ‘You didn’t think I was going to have hair down my back for the rest of my life, did you? One can’t be a student for ever.’
‘But you’ve over a year to go,’ she reminded him.
‘Maybe.’ The response was short and sharp, and though further questions sprang to mind, Joyce dared not ask them.
A few days later she was emptying the bin from the galley when she noticed Charlie’s Communist Party membership card amongst the rubbish. It was one of his most prized possessions, a kind of badge of honour. When over-excited or a bit drunk, he was inclined to brandish the card whilst berating those around him who did not share his beliefs, which if anything had become stronger as communism’s influence waned.
Joyce fished the card out of the rubbish, scrubbed at a grease stain and presented it to Charlie.
‘I’ve no idea how this got in the bin, but I rescued it for you,’ she said. ‘Do I get a big kiss and an even bigger thank you?’
A bright flush spread over Charlie’s pale cheeks.
‘Well, actually, I threw it away,’ he said.
‘You did what?’ asked Joyce, staggered. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve resigned my membership,’ Charlie responded. ‘I don’t believe in it any more.’
‘But the Party is your religion. You’re a damned missionary for it. I only joined because of you. You know that. Whatever brought this on, Charlie?’
‘The small matter of the Berlin Wall falling might be a bit of a factor, eh?’
Ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, Joyce reminded him, ‘You always said you weren’t going to allow the fall of the Wall to affect your beliefs. You said the cause was the right one, and eventually the world would—’
‘I know what I damn well said,’ Charlie snapped. ‘And you always argued I was wrong. Well, you’ve got your way now. It’s over. So you’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘C’mon, tell me the truth: what’s really behind all this?’
‘I’m growing up, I suppose,’ he responded with a shrug. ‘I’ve finally come to the conclusion that Marxism is nonsense, that’s all.’
Joyce had been stunned. One of the things that had attracted her to Charlie had been his conviction and passionate advocacy for the ideals he held so dear. It hadn’t mattered a jot that she had never really shared those ideals. That wasn’t the point.
‘Well, that’s rich! You’ve resigned from the Communist Party without telling me and I’m still officially a member, even though I only ever joined because of you and your alleged principles,’ she said, with more edge than she intended.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it. I doubt there will be a Communist Party of Great Britain for much longer,’ said Charlie prophetically.
‘So why the grand gesture?’ asked Joyce.
Charlie made no reply. Instead he walked away from her — something he’d been doing more and more. Even in bed, although they were still at the stage where they made love almost every night, Joyce found him increasingly detached. But if she dared to mention it he would not be drawn, and when she persisted he bit her head off.
She consoled herself with the thought that at least Charlie’s friendship with her father seemed to be going from strength to strength. There had been several more trips to London involving overnight stays at Henry’s club. Henry also took Charlie to the races at Cheltenham and to watch Bath play rugby. Neither Joyce nor her mother were invited. Joyce was not used to it. She was used to being the apple of her father’s eye, getting her own way with him. She was also used to going absolutely everywhere with Charlie.
‘I thought you wanted me to get to know your young man. I thought you wanted us to be friends,’ said her father when she remonstrated with him about excluding her from these invitations.
An expression of her paternal grandmother’s came into her mind: ‘Be careful what you wish for.’
What Joyce wished for right then was for things to go back to the way they had been. Her wish was to be emphatically denied.
At the end of a typical morning of domestic crisis aboard the Shirley Anne — the electric kettle had blown the entire system again, and then the bottled gas ran out as they tried to cook breakfast on the little two-burner gas hob — Charlie dropped the biggest bombshell yet.
‘Well, at least we won’t have to be putting up with this shit for much longer,’ he announced. ‘I’ve sold the Shirley Anne. Some twat of a first year has bought her. He’s got absolutely no idea what he’s taking on.’
‘You’ve done what?’ she asked. ‘You can’t mean it.’
‘Yep, I can. And I have. I’ve had enough.’
‘But she meant so much to you. And me, come to that.’
‘Time to move on, Joycey.’
He didn’t even sound like Charlie any more. ‘Time to move on’ indeed — the old Charlie would never have spoken to her in that patronizing way.
‘I can’t believe you’d do that, and without so much as a word to me!’
‘Why would I need to discuss it with you?’ Charlie asked curtly. ‘She’s my boat. And she was mine before I even met you. It was my decision to make.’
‘But the Shirley Anne is part of our life together...’ Fighting to hold back her tears, Joyce took a step away.
Seeing the hurt in her eyes, Charlie softened his tone. ‘Look, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought it was my responsibility — I didn’t want to burden you with it. You have to admit, it’s time we moved on. We can get a little flat in town...’
He didn’t want to burden her? For a moment Joyce was too stunned to speak; it was as if Charlie had suddenly morphed into her father.
‘And you have the money for a flat, do you?’ she snapped.
‘Well no, not exactly,’ Charlie continued, his tone patient and reasonable. ‘But your father has offered to help.’
Joyce couldn’t believe her ears.
‘My father? Have you two been plotting this? The Shirley Anne is our home, yours and mine, Charlie. Did you connive with my father to get rid of our home?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Charlie, reaching out to her.
‘And what about our gap-year odyssey?’ Joyce demanded, brushing away his hand. ‘What about sailing off into the ocean and letting the winds take us where they will? What about our dreams, Charlie?’
He shrugged. His face gave nothing away.
‘Maybe I have different dreams, now, Joyce,’ he said.
‘Well, you know what, Charlie, when you told me that was what you wanted to do and that you wanted me to do it with you, to sail away with you aboard this wonderful old boat, I thought it was about the most romantic thing I had ever heard in the whole of my life.’
Charlie stepped towards her, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips on hers, thus making it impossible for her to say any more. At least he could still be unpredictable, it seemed.
He stroked her hair tenderly and stopped kissing her only in order to speak.
‘I still have dreams, my darling,’ he said. ‘And I have one great big dream that only you can make come true. Will you marry me, Joyce Tanner?’
Joyce felt her jaw drop. She was taken totally by surprise.
She had always assumed that she and Charlie would marry one day. They’d both been certain from the start that they wanted to be together for ever. But the last thing she expected that morning, after Charlie had so unceremoniously blurted out about the sale of the boat, was a formal proposal.