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‘And it’s old as fuck,’ I say eventually. ‘Steadfast.’
‘Loyal. Keeps all your secrets.’ Finn looks across at me, that ever-present smile lighting up his face. ‘Do you see what I meannow?’ Before I get the chance to answer, his eyes widen and, haloed by the sun, I know I’ve struck gold. ‘What isthat?’
‘That, Finn, is the boat you wanted.’
Go on a boat.Number four on Finn’s list.
Even in the dying daylight, the floating bar of Tamesis Dock is a vibrant pop of colour nestled on the riverbank. Permanently moored in its home between Lambeth and Vauxhall Bridge, the boat is painted blue and yellow, adorned by eclectic décor and fairy lights across its open upper deck. At low tide, it sits on a bed of stones and river debris, but this evening, it bobs slightly on the water.
‘Okay,’ Finn says, ducking his head as he steps inside and raising his voice over the buzz of activity, ‘this is way better than the bus tour. No offence.’
The ceiling’s low and so are the lights, which hang and sway with the gentle rocking of the boat, and the wood-panelled walls are festooned with rope and anchors and fishing nets. When we approach a gap in the small crowd at the bar, Finn gestures at me to go first as a lanky bartender waits expectantly for our order.
‘Could I have an Aperol Spritz?’ I ask.
He smiles and nods before looking at Finn, who fixes his eyes on him as he says, ‘A gin martini, please.’
‘Dirty?’
‘Filthy,’ Finn replies in a deep rumble. The bartender’s eyes widen and he scurries off to the other end of the bar, no doubt intending to replay that single word in his mind for eternity.
I lean towards Finn so that he can hear me over the noise. ‘You shouldn’t do that.’
‘Do what?’ he asks, his body inching even closer to mine in response, a smile tugging at his mouth even though neither of us has said anything funny.
‘That poor, unsuspecting man just wanted to take your order and you practically seduced him.’
‘Everyone likes to be seduced, don’t they?’ He quirks an eyebrow and waits for me to respond.
I narrow my eyes and take a step backwards. Drunk Ava is not known for making intelligent decisions when men are involved, and right now I’m sober enough to have a speck of common sense.
‘For the record,’ he says easily, ‘Aperol tastes like cough medicine and cheap perfume.’
‘That should be its new slogan.’
‘I think perhaps it’s an acquired taste,’ he suggests.
‘Acquire some taste, then.’
‘Ouch.’ His eyes catch mine in the low light from the bar and I take a long inhale in an attempt to compose myself. I’m increasingly aware that most of the brown of his eyes has been taken over by pupil, that heat radiates off him even from this distance.
I really should’ve stayed at the pub with the grass. At least he didn’t make the inside of my head feel like a cursed frappé whizzing around a blender.
‘You can talk; a martini?’ I try to ignore whatever is going on in my brain. My rapidly thumping heart has other ideas, however. ‘Like someone shoved hand sanitiser and a packet of Monster Munch in a cocktail shaker and thought “hmm, you know what would make this better? An olive!”’
The bartender comes over with our drinks, placing them delicately on the bar and stealing a quick glance at Finn and his perpetual half grin before handing us the card reader. Finn taps his phone before I get the chance to protest. He has a few missed callson his home screen and I briefly wonder who he’s avoiding.
The bar is packed, but I want to show Finn the deck, so I move back to the main door.
‘How’d you find out about this place?’ he asks as we step outside, floorboards creaking beneath our feet. I inhale the fresh air and it refocuses my tipsy brain somewhat. I lead the way, walking up to the bow of the boat in search of a free table.
‘One of my dates,’ I reply, sipping my Aperol. ‘Thank you, Chris the quantity surveyor. Not a great lover in the end, but he had wonderful taste in bars.’
In reality, I know Tamesis Dock is a well-known spot, but it’s small and secluded enough to still feel like a secret. As we near the front of the boat we come to an incredible vantage point of London’s skyline. From here, the London Eye, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament are silhouetted against a dusty pink and purple sky as the sun says its final goodbye.
By some miracle, a couple is packing up their stuff, and in an uncharacteristic bout of speed, I claim their spot within seconds of them vacating it. There’s a spillage on the surface of the metal table but it’s a price I’m willing to pay for its prime location. One seat faces the skyline while the other faces the back of the boat. I reluctantly take the one facing backwards so Finn can have the better view.
Once we’ve sat down and Finn’s investigated the sun-bleached life preserver attached to the railing next to us, he slides his martini towards me.
