Meredith met her match down at the wharf that fateful Saturday afternoon in late winter. Until disaster struck, she had been having a delightful time, as the saying goes, ‘simply mucking about in boats’. She had done this most weekends since leaving the family home in Haberfield and moving to a compact apartment in Elizabeth Bay. No-one in her family had much to do with the water prior to this, certainly none has ever considered sailing as a chosen past-time. This all changed when Meredith bought her place overlooking the marina. At the time, it was the right apartment in the right location. It was a wise investment.
She could see the giant masts. The voices of the sailors floated on the breeze. The ropes flapped. The hooks clanged. Sea-gulls wheeled overhead. Everything conspired against her.
Then, as she struggled down the gangplank with her victuals, Meredith collided with Pierre.