The Quilt (16 page)

“The outboard starts
first time, every time.  She has never given us any trouble and handles the rough conditions well,” he purred.

“
My family have enjoyed hours of fishing in this boat over the years.  So the kids are not happy that I am selling her.”

He was describing Sandy’s
own precious memories.

“Has she
got a name?”

He thought for a second
, glancing at the enthralled red head adorned with bright beads.

“Lucky Lady.”
 

“Well
, I could sure do with a change in luck.” 

The man helped attach the rusty trailer on to the tow ball of Sandy’s
classic Mark 1 Ford Cortina. 

Sandy had always had trouble with the written word.  Her writing resembled the tracks of a spider that had overdosed on hallucinatory drugs before being let loose to attack a sheet of paper.  Her reading was slow as she concentrated on pronouncing the individual words often without comprehending their meaning in an actual sentence.

In stark contrast when Sandy was given
a brush, paint, charcoal or pastels she could express herself and the world around her in incredible detail.  Sandy could work in a variety of styles, although had painted the majority of her work in water colours or oils. 

Sandy
had never received any formal training but the world through her eyes could be observed easily in her stunning murals and paintings.  She had been commissioned on several occasions to personalise walls in children’s bedrooms and to produce art for purchasers with a vision but without the ability to transfer their dreams to the canvas.

The stark wooden hull and chipped worn paint presented a challenge.  To most, the boat would appear nothing short of a relic, wrecked and not worth the time it would take to restore.  To Sandy, it represented a blank canvas, interesting in its shape, texture and potential.  Feeling positive and full of inspiration, Sandy purchased brushes and bright marine polyurethane paints from the local hardware store. 

It took almost a week to remove the old paint and check the structure.  To her
relief, the boat was sound under its shabby flaking exterior.  The base protective coats were applied within a few days.  Lucky Lady was transformed into a glistening white, swan-shaped boat, back to her former glory. 

But Sandy had no intention of leaving the vessel without personalising the hull.  For two weeks Sandy dedicated herself completely to the transformation of Lucky Lady.  She stopped
only to sleep, grab a quick snack or go to work on the occasions she was required and could not find an excuse to stay at home. The lump no longer invaded her thoughts and the books with their frightening images remained unopened on the table.

When she had finished
, “Lucky Lady” resembled a floating artwork worthy of public display rather than a boat soon to be launched into the green waters surrounding Auckland city. 

The large
, and highly detailed, mural spanned the entire side of the boat.  A reclining mermaid with bright orange locks of wavy hair, lips pouting in flirtation, her deep green eyes highlighted with vivid blue eye shadow lay seductively across the waterline.  Her delicate face rested on the palm of a long elegant hand that displayed fingers adorned with rings. In cherry red, the italic words, “Lucky Lady”, were stencilled across the stern of the vessel.

With her typical
unconventional, creative zest for life Sandy had achieved immortality.

Chapter 14

“Sandy”

Sandy stood in the shower trying in vain to scrub the raw smell of stranger sex from her skin.  Months had passed since she had visited Joanne and Stephen in Nelson.  The mural had long since been finished and while she had immersed herself in its creation and was more than satisfied with the end product she now found herself with that familiar empty feeling that gnawed in the pit of her stomach. 

She had not
, as yet, ventured out in Lucky Lady.  Not because she was nervous about the boat or being on the water, she was nervous that the mural might be damaged while launching.  The mermaid was, without doubt, her most unique work to date but only on completion had Sandy realized how impractical it had been investing so much time and love into the side of a boat.

She lathered more soap on to her reddened skin.  Her hand involuntarily migrated to the lump.  Her slippery fingers travelled across the hard pea shaped intruder.  Sandy stopped and prodded again; feeling the shape and wincing as she noticed tenderness had developed in the general area.  Surely the size could not have increased this much in such a short period of time?   The hot water was cascading down her body, so why did her skin feel suddenly cold. 

Sandy wrapped herself in a towel and
fought the temptation to seek reassurance in the articles describing cysts and hormonal changes. 

“Let me have a look.  The next appointment won’t be until Wednesday.  Hang on a minute there has just been a cancellation.    Can you be in here in thirty minutes?”

Sandy gulped.  She was
unprepared.  The temptation to wait swelled up like a wave inside her.  Did she need or want the answer today? She had always harboured an aversion to medical or dental appointments.  Her fingers prodded at the mass.  It suddenly felt like it was growing by the minute.

“Sandy
?  Did you want me to give you the appointment today or have you enough pills to wait until Wednesday?”

“I’ll take the one today”.  H
er voice was distant and detached. 

The waiting room smelt strongly of detergent, its clammy warmth reeked of sickness and filled her with a feeling of dread.   She had experienced a similar foreboding outside the principal’s office at school, waiting for yet another detention and knowing she would soon have to face her parents’ disappointed and condemning faces.

She thumbed through a magazine.  There was nothing of interest but the glossy photographs allowed her to avoid eye contac
t with the strangers that also waited to be seen.

A friendly young man not much older than
her stood undecided in the doorway. 

“Sandy?”
he ushered her into the consultation room indicating for her to sit down.

“How can I help you Sandy?”

He looked up from his notes when there was no answer.

“
Your appointment is for a new prescription for the contraceptive pill.  Is there anything else?” 

Sandy’s eyes were
downcast, examining her fingers.  They had formed knots in her lap.  She had shrunk into her chair.

“I have a lump
,” her voice was so soft she had to repeat the answer.

“Where is this lump
, Sandy?”

“In my breast
.”

“
Could you please remove your top so that I can have a look?  Just go behind the curtain and lie down.”

H
is voice was gentle and clear, although he was looking down at the notes sitting on his desk. 

“
There is no mention of a lump. How long ago did you say you first noticed it?”

Sandy
tried to answer without sounding concerned. 

“Around six months.  Perhaps a little longer
, I’m not really sure.”

If she had been paying
more attention she would have seen a slight stiffening and frown pass over the young doctor’s face. 

His hands felt
cold as he pushed into the surface of her breast.  He seemed to be studying something on the ceiling, perhaps a technique to lessen any awkwardness for either patient or doctor.

“Sandy
, there is a definite lump. I can feel it quite easily.  You said you think the size has increased quite quickly?” 

He
continued without waiting for a reply.

“
I think at this stage it would be sensible to refer you to the Breast Clinic for a check-up.”

He
wrote out the referral and, as it was printing, turned to Sandy.

“
Sandy, I’d like you to ring the Breast Clinic as soon as possible.  Please don’t leave it this time.  It is normal for them to take several weeks to be able to organise an appointment.  Here is their telephone number.”

T
he doctor spoke with practiced confidence and optimism.

“
It is not unusual for woman to have lumps in their breasts.  Like your lump they can be tender when pressure is applied.  Most turn out to be hormone related and nothing to worry about.”

He looked up and noticed Sandy was staring at him intently.  He wished he could completely eliminate the fear that he saw in her eyes
.

“But it is
always better to be sure and the only way we can be is to have the specialists check it for you.”

The young doctor handed Sandy a referral
to the Breast Clinic together with a new script for contraception.  He looked into the huge and frightened green eyes.  In their depths he saw a warning. 

“
Do not emphasise the importance of making this appointment again.  I will not cope and it would be easy to go back to the safety of denial.”

The boat ramp looked steep and ridiculously narrow.  It was covered in slimy green algae. 

How
I am expected to back both the car and trailer down that thing without damaging the mural?  The ramp was flanked by an unforgiving concrete wall on one side that retained the car park area above and a long floating jetty for boarding on the other.

The line of trailers
behind her was increasing by the minute.  She stood undecided.  If she backed and slightly went to one side the mural would be ruined.  Sandy chewed at her nails.  The option to leave without launching had disappeared.  She was now hemmed in by other owners waiting patiently to launch their boats.

Someone sounded a horn.  Sandy
had returned to her car and attempted for the fifth time to manoeuvre her trailer into the water.  Flushed and frustrated she jack knifed stopping just before the boat scaped up against the wall. 

Ano
ther horn blasted and a middled-aged gentleman yelled abuse out of his window. Sandy rounded on the line of faces staring out of windows or standing in small huddled groups.

“Well
, it seems to me we have several choices here.  One - I get out and walk away.  Later this afternoon, I will send someone to retrieve the car and trailer for me.  Of course, none of you will be able to launch until they have been removed.”

She smiled sweetly at the reddening face
s in front of her.

“Two
- I continue to practice reversing down this poorly designed ramp.  Of course, it will be sometime before you will be able to launch but I see you are enjoying watching the spectacle so assume you will not be bored.”

The reddening face
closest to her flushed to a dark crimson.

“Three
- you get off your arse and help me.”

A round of app
lause erupted from the crowd and the embarrassed man took control and backed the trailer steadily into the murky water. 

It was
followed by an audible sigh as it became obvious Sandy had no idea what to do next.

Resigned to his role a
s helper and advisor, the man patiently showed Sandy how to release the vessel from the trailer.  He showed her how to tie a knot and secure it to the jetty he then parked her car and trailer.  He explained the controls in the boat and checked the fuel.  Hesitantly, he attempted to start the outboard.

F
urther trailer boats had launched and tied to the jetty.  The owners waited while “Lucky Lady” coughed and spluttered asthmatically at the end of the jetty.  No amount of persuasion convinced the outboard to make any attempt to burst into life.

The unfortunate
man helped Sandy move the little boat to the opposite side of the jetty.  Whatever problem the outboard had was not going to be rectified on the water.  He watched as Sandy hunched over miserably, but there was little he could do other than retrieve the car and trailer.   He then helped her to reload the boat and secure it for transporting. 

The man stood watching Sandy drive away
, water pouring from the rusty trailer.  He looked towards the sky and silently thanked whoever was up there for preventing the crazy redhead from going out on the water alone.

The marine mechanic was not optimistic when he viewed the small outboard motor. It was old, had high running hours and he suspected little maintenance over the years.  

“The repairs will take your boat out of the water for at least two weeks.  As far as costs go
, I won’t know until we strip the engine down and see what the damage is.  The account could well be substantially more than you paid for the boat itself.”