The floating flower market was one of my favourite places the last time I was in Amsterdam with Nicky. Here, flower shops lined up in barges along one of the many canals sell every kind of tulip imaginable, along with exotic orchids, geraniums and narcissus depending on the time of year. I might be starting a new life in a new country, but if I could have imagined myself alone in my fifties, this is just what I would have dreamed of. Living the life of a nomad and walking around a flower market is not a bad way to live at all.
The scent of red roses wafts over me as I admire a bucket full of flowers in bloom. Tall, bright sunflowers sit alongside them, making the stall a colourful sight. I admire all the vibrant shades of the different flowers, despite the autumn season. I have to force myself to remember that I am here for tulips and not to fill the houseboat until it looks like someone’s greenhouse.
With a big smile on my face, I try and barter over a colourful bunch of everlasting tulips displayed at a stall. The selection is too pretty to narrow down a choice of colours, so I’ve gone for them all. The stallholder wraps the mix of pink, red, purple, yellow and white tulips together as they are all merged into one.
In no hurry to get back, I take a walk along the market with my bouquet. There must be around twenty stalls on the barges, and I stop at one of them to look at the harvest collection of ghostly white pumpkins sat among the most glorious orange ones. One juicy pumpkin catches my eye, but as much as I would love to take it home with me to decorate the outside of the houseboat, it would be far too heavy to carry all the way home. So, I make myself move on and window-shop at some of the stores on the other side of the street. I heard the market has been open since around 1862, but I can’t help wondering whether the neighbouring shops were selling the cannabis-patterned socks that are on display back then. I presume not. Nowadays, they seem to have everything here, including tacky boxer shorts and ceramic tulips, but I avoid all the souvenirs of Amsterdam and instead plump for a small coffee shop on a corner to rest my feet. I order a hot chocolate, wondering if it’s anywhere near as good as one of Abe’s.
I wish I could stop thinking of his hot chocolate – or anything else about him, for that matter. I tell myself that Abe isn’t the only hot chocolate maker in Amsterdam and this one will be just as lovely. But it’s not. It’s nowhere near as creamy and gorgeous. Nothing compares to anything Abe does because he is so lovely, and I am beginning to realise that I have a hugely embarrassing midlife crush on my next-door neighbour, who also has a very lovely wife. The further I stay away from him the better.
Chapter Thirteen
Back home, I settle my tulips into a vase and stand and admire my revamped and improved living room with its beautiful rug, Amsterdam portrait and the soft lighting that gives off a warm glow. I can’t believe how much I have transformed this little houseboat already. It is still a work-in-progress, but at least the living area is more enjoyable to relax in now and I don’t fall flat on my face when I walk in here, which is a huge bonus.
This evening, the wind is beating against the windows, and I am so thankful for how cosy it feels inside. But before I can settle down for the night in my dressing gown and huddle up, I remember that I have left the deckchair at the side of the barge. One gust of wind and it could end up in the canal. I rush outside to fasten everything down, and see that Abe is doing the same thing. I guess securing the barge will need to become second nature if I don’t want to lose anything overboard in a storm. As I fight with the wind and my deckchair, Abe waves. I try to shout hello and tell him that I have finished the last of the work inside, but he can’t hear me over the storm, so he comes rushing over asking if I need any help.
‘No, I was just trying to say that I finished the living room.’
‘Oh, I’d love to see how it looks. Let me go and secure everything back home and I’ll come over.’ So much for staying clear of Abe. Why does he have to be so friendly?
When he returns, I am surprised to see him standing at the door with a bottle of prosecco. I look around hoping Beatrix is close by, but she is nowhere to be seen.
‘It’s a housewarming present for you, now that you’ve finished some of the hard work.’
‘That’s so sweet of you. Still plenty of things to do but at least it’s habitable now. Thank you for the bottle. Please thank Beatrix for me too.’
‘You’re very welcome. We both agree that it’s tradition. You have to christen your houseboat.’ I am not sure whether the tradition is to open the bottle, or if you’re supposed to smash it against the side. I don’t want to waste prosecco and leave it to run into the canal, no matter what the tradition dictates.
‘Christening sounds good. Umm, would you like some?’
‘Ah, are you not doing anything?’
‘No, not really. I’m just sat here listening to the wind outside. No exciting plans. Where’s Beatrix and Ted? Do they want to celebrate with us too?’
‘Ah, Beatrix is at her book club tonight. But I’m sure Ted will join us. I’ll go and get him. I’ll be right back – don’t go anywhere!’
While Abe goes to pick up Ted, I search for wine glasses and then straighten down my jumper. I’d be happier if Beatrix was here as I would hate for her to get the wrong impression and think I am trying to lure her husband away but at least Ted is coming. When Abe and Ted arrive, I pour out the prosecco and pop a cushion down on the floor for Ted. I sit down on my new pink sofa, which has finally been delivered, and perch myself as far into the corner as possible.
‘It’s looking great. You did such a good job. I love the rug.’
‘Thanks. I felt the nomad look suited this place.’
‘For sure. Have you always been a nomad?’ asks Abe.
‘Oh, no. I was married, paid my taxes, worked in the same job since I left school, had a home on a street where everyone kept up with the Joneses and…’
‘So, it’s true everyone’s called Jones in Wales?’ interrupts Abe.
‘Ha, no. I mean, it’s a saying. When everyone competes with each other.’
‘Oh, okay. So, what made you move to Amsterdam and leave the Joneses behind?’
‘Well, a lot of reasons. I needed a new start. To be honest, I had a bit of an addiction to buying things. I am getting better. But I suppose you could say I was verging on becoming a shopaholic. Then, as I was selling loads of stuff, an advert popped up for a houseboat – not this one. But it started me thinking how wonderful it would be to move here, plus I’d always dreamed of living on a houseboat. My daughter had been telling me for ages I needed to do something. I’ve loved Amsterdam since I came here with a friend, many years ago. I thought it sounded like fun, and this was my ideal chance.’
‘Well, I’m glad you did. It’s so good to meet someone different. Like Beatrix said, it’s good to have a new neighbour here.’
‘Yeah, it’s always nice to meet new people. So, anyhow, what about you? Have you always lived on a houseboat?’
‘No. You could say I was similar to you. You said you were a what? Shopaholic? So, I was a workaholic. I worked seven days a week. My ex-wife had had enough of it and couldn’t take any more. Looking back, I see I was absent all the time. We didn’t even have children because I would always promise after the next big deal, I’d have more time to be a father. I was more worried about my boss getting rid of me in the competitive finance industry than I was about my wife finally having enough and leaving me.’
