Infested Read Free Page B

eyes, with me kneeling in the canoe,
were about level with the lock keepers knees. While he was fetching the bits
of paper he needed, the level of the water had been steadily falling to expose
the slimy walls of the lock. Slick steps emerged from the water and I needed
to shift slightly backwards to prevent getting the front of the canoe caught on
them, which would have inevitably flipped me into the river.
    When the lock keeper returned he needed to climb down the steps,
holding onto the algae-encrusted chain to stop himself slipping and still had
to bend down in order to speak to me without raising his voice. “Name?”
    “Pardon,” I asked, having a sudden panic.
    “What’s your name?” The lock keeper was still cheery, just going
through the motions. If I had his job I’d probably be cheerful too.
    “Sorry… Bobby Jones.” It was the first name that came into my head.
    The lock keeper raised an eyebrow but didn’t give voice to any
suspicions as he filled in the form. I was starting to become nervous and knew
I needed to play cool.
    “Address?” he asked.
    I made that up too and while he wrote it out I fetched my wallet from
the dry bag and counted out the correct money. “Here you go,” I said, handing
it over as he passed me the licence, almost fumbling it in the exchange and
dropping both licence and money into the river. We shared a small laugh before
he climbed back up the steps to open the gates which towered in front of me,
dripping and slick.
    “Enjoy your trip,” he shouted as I passed through.
    “I will.” I waved and left the lock keeper to prepare for the next
boat.
     

 
    Four
     
    On the other side of the lock I was doubly glad I’d been able to pass
through and didn’t have to carry the canoe around. The concrete banks were
straight and tall and the metal ladder set into it must have been fifteen rungs
high. It would have been a difficult undertaking to lower the canoe back into
the river and then load my gear before having to clamber down and in without tipping
myself overboard.
    A hundred or so yards downstream, the channel coming from the weir re-joined
the river. I peered up to see there were many boats moored. I could still hear,
but not see, the weir itself and so out of curiosity, I paddled up. The flow
was not overly powerful at this point and it didn’t take much extra effort to
propel myself forward and as I did, the sound increased in volume and the
density of boats increased. A marina branched off from the main river,
bustling with topless men cleaning and maintaining their boats.
    I continued past the mouth of the marina with all its hustle and bustle
and shortly after, the weir came into view; water cascading down over a flight
of concrete steps, rolling and foaming at the bottom before it continued down
the river in a flurry of bubbles. On the right bank, pub benches and
beer-branded parasols were spread about a large beer garden. It must have been
sometime after lunch because quite a few of the tables were occupied.
     
    Being another hot and sunny day, the thought of a cool beer was
impossible to resist and I decided to take the calculated risk that no one
there would be interested enough in me for recognition. So I paddled to the
end of the garden, where a convenient concrete mooring would make it easy to
disembark and several metal hoops were set into the bank where I could tie up
the canoe.
    One or two of the patrons eyed me with curiosity as I climbed out onto
the short mown grass and, trying to push any paranoia aside, I smiled and
nodded my greetings. My legs had gone numb from being folded under the seat
for so long and while I coaxed the blood back into them, I looked around the
beer garden. At the bench closest to me was a pair of young lovers, gazing
into each other’s eyes across a half full bottle of white wine. Further over
were a small group of elderlies in straw sun hats and at another bench a couple
were relaxing over a pint, with only half an eye on