Page 19 of A New Life in Amsterdam

Although I am surprised by the arrival of two pumpkins on deck, I must admit they suit the place.

They are just what I would have picked had I been able to carry them.

They are perfectly plump, and if there was a pumpkin contest, I’ve no doubt they would win.

I look around for signs of who could have been here, but I don’t see anything, and I notice that my lock hasn’t been tampered with, so I gingerly open the door.

Despite everything looking exactly as I left it, I still call out in case I have missed something.

Fortunately, it is silent and there is nobody in sight, so I can breathe a sigh of relief.

Since the only people I know around here are Abe and Beatrix, I pop over to thank them for dropping the perfect pumpkins off. I wanted to tell them about the stork house anyway, so it gives me the perfect excuse.

Ted greets me on deck and lets out a friendly bark as he spots me.

‘Hello, Ted. Are your mam and dad in?’ I ask.

A guy in a long black coat walking past the barge overhears me and gives me a strange look.

Then I notice Abe, who is pottering about on the other side of the roof.

I should have guessed he wouldn’t be too far away if Ted is around.

Abe must be doing some work on board as he’s wearing navy dungaree overalls splashed in paint.

His ponytail is tied back as always, and he looks like he could be one of the famous Dutch painters at work.

How can someone look so good in overalls?

‘Hey, how’s your day?’ he says.

‘Great. I came to tell you that I saw the stork house. I came across it on my walk.’

‘That means you’re practically a native now.’

‘Well, I’m still finding my way around, but… Anyway, I also came round to say thanks for the pumpkins. They’re so gorgeous. So perfect, and they look amazing.’

‘Pumpkins? What pumpkins?’

‘The two you dropped off outside the front door.’

‘You know, I should have thought of doing something like that for you, but I’m afraid that wasn’t me.’

‘It wasn’t you? Maybe Beatrix?’

‘No. It wouldn’t have been her either. Not guilty, sorry.’

‘Oh. Did you see anyone near the boat today?’

‘I haven’t long come back in from work. I was just trying to get some painting done before it’s completely dark.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m sorry if I can’t help with the mystery but, since you’re here, do you want to come in for a coffee? I’m done for the night. It’s getting too dark.’

Although I have knocked on the houseboat door a few times, I have never been inside.

In fact, I haven’t been inside anybody’s houseboat yet and I’m intrigued to know what they’re like, so I gladly accept his offer.

Besides, it isn’t like I have anything planned for this evening except felting and, after three strong beers, stabbing a needle into a piece of foam is probably not the wisest idea.

I don’t even know where the nearest A&E is yet.

Abe and Ted lead me inside the houseboat, where the delicious aroma of a hearty stew hits me right away.

‘Something smells very nice.’

‘I’m making Draadjesvlees. My gran’s special recipe for beef and onion stew. It comes with a serving of boiled potatoes and red cabbage. You fancy some?’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. You keep it for you and Beatrix.’

‘No, I’m happy to share. Beatrix isn’t here tonight. There’s plenty. Please, be my guest.’

If the smell is anything to go by it is far too tasty to decline. I also realise I should eat something after spending the afternoon at the canal-side bar.

‘Okay. That would be lovely, thank you.’

‘Great. I’ll set the table for two.’

As Abe goes into the kitchen drawer to get the cutlery out, I scan the living area and open kitchen.

It has a similar layout to my place, and I sit on the comfortable sofa with its grey throw and take in the small oakwood dining table with its two black stools.

It’s no-frills, but it’s homely and cosy.

A mahogany bookcase beside the sofa looks as though it is straining with the heavy books it holds.

While much of the furniture is simple, the walls show Abe’s casual style.

A photo of Abe and Beatrix, who look as though they are dressed for a special occasion, sits on a small side table.

An eclectic collection of black-and-white photographs of famous people decorates the walls.

A Jimi Hendrix portrait hangs beside a print of Dean Martin and a Marilyn Monroe print sits beside Joaquin Phoenix. It’s an interesting collection.

‘So, you like famous people?’ I ask, indicating the walls.

‘I like classics. They’re all classics from the past. These prints are stories of a bygone era.

I mean, I don’t live in the past, but it was a cool time in music and the arts in those days.

Now everything seems like it’s all the same.

Industries are so regimented – in those days everything seemed free.

I feel like now we are being told what to listen to and how to live and I don’t like that. ’

‘Yeah, I get that. Who wants to conform, hey?’

‘Exactly. I told you we got each other.’ Abe smiles and I play with my hair self-consciously. Fortunately, dinner is ready, so I don’t have to look into those piercing, playful eyes for too long.

‘Would you like some wine with your meal?’

‘Oh, no, thank you. I’ve had enough for one day. I found a fabulous craft beer place. It was quite strong stuff.’

‘Yeah, you need to be careful of those craft beers. How about a glass of home-made lemonade?’

‘You make your own lemonade?’

‘It’s just stuff I make for the coffee shop. I bring home what I have left. You want to try it?’

‘I’d love to.’ Seriously? Abe is a man who not only looks cool in his painting dungarees but cooks beautiful hearty dinners and even makes his own lemonade. Beatrix has truly struck gold! But then it occurs to me that nobody is this fantastic, and I wonder if he has secrets to hide.

Still, as I tuck into the stew with little Ted at my feet, I feel so at home. Why are houseboats so cosy and blissful? Anything in the world could be happening on the outside, but inside here with Abe and Ted, it’s so peaceful and calm. It’s just glorious.

Over dinner, Abe tells me about his day at work and how he made ten Dutch waffles before nine thirty a.m. I somehow can’t imagine him in his previous career in finance. The waffle-making lifestyle suits him much better.

‘It’s amazing how you used to be in finance but are happier now around stroopwafels and home-made lemonade. I love what you’ve done, but I’m intrigued as to what you were like before.’

‘I suppose I was more driven then. I guess we change as we get older. We learn what’s important in life and what we truly want. It’s not the same as when you’re younger and have big dreams.’

‘You’re so right. That’s exactly what happened with my ex-husband, Paul. He wanted to go back to Australia and live a different life. One without me.’ I am starting to wonder if all these men are going through the manopause or something.

‘I don’t know why he’d want to live it without you.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ Why does it feel as though he is flirting with me when he has a beautiful partner? Do Dutch guys flirt, or do they just come out with what they want to say? I desperately try to think of something else to talk about.

‘So, umm, do you have any photos of the younger version of yourself? Did you always have the ponytail?’

‘No way. I’d never have got away with my ponytail at work. That’s why I’ll never cut my hair. It’s a statement. I’ll get you a photo. You can see if you recognise me.’

Abe clears away the plates and enters his bedroom. A few moments later he returns with some photographs. We sit on the sofa together to go through them.

‘Here, this is me in my suit.’

I look at the man in an expensive suit. His skin is less lined than it is today, his hair is short and neat, but his eyes look dead. They don’t have the beautiful sparkle that they have now. He is a smart man but looks beaten down and it doesn’t suit him.

Then he shows me photos of his fast car and his big house. They are all impressive, but I much prefer the houseboat.

‘I prefer the person you are today. You look so much more relaxed and chilled,’ I say.

‘Me too. I was taking tablets for blood pressure. I was super stressed. I wasn’t sleeping.

I had the wrong priorities. As I said before, I’m not sorry for anything I did, but my ex-wife leaving me like that woke me up.

I knew that I didn’t want to live the rest of my life in that way.

I was an easy-going Dutchman, who deep down loved long weekends, but once I got into that career, it kind of took over. ’

‘I guess sometimes a career sucks you in. You fit in with those around you and become like them. So, did your ex-wife ever see you now you’re like this?’

‘No. She was with my boss six months later. So much for not liking career men.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘To be honest, I’m not sorry about anything.

I’m glad now. I think part of me was only doing the job because I wanted to keep her happy.

She wanted the best of everything, and the pressure was on to be like some kind of power couple.

She had friends who would compare their husbands, and I kept not wanting to let her down. ’

‘Well, I’m glad you found your true self. You look a lot more at ease now than in those photos.’

‘I am. A year after I quit the job, I grew my hair like I wanted and became the real me again. I no longer needed the blood pressure medication either. I’ll never force myself to be someone I’m not again.’

‘That’s wonderful. You’re so right. Sometimes we lose our own identity in a relationship, and that’s not good for anyone.

I think Paul may have done that a bit to try and keep me happy, but in the long run he was making himself miserable and he wanted to be back in Australia.

I’d have preferred him to be honest and confide in me. ’

‘Some advice… Often guys don’t feel like they can say what they really want to. They don’t come out with it.’

Abe stares into my eyes and I feel my face flush. It is time I went home.

‘Um, anyway. I don’t mean to rush off, but I realised I forgot I left something on at home. I have to go. Thanks for a lovely evening. It’s been amazing. You’re a fabulous host, but it’s getting late. It’s time I went home. Please say hi to Beatrix for me.’

I jump up to my feet and hurry out of the door.