‘Thanks, pal.’ The line went dead. Dan stood for a while, picturing Duncan, out in the cold, in the stairwell of Mick Hastie’s tenement building. He considered calling Katelin back, but decided against it; too late and anyway, it could wait; let her wait. He patted his pockets to make sure he hadn’t been robbed as he’d stood talking on the phone, then descended into the rank warmth of the tube station.

Half past midnight at Warwick Avenue, and Dan was the only person to step off an almost-empty train. He loped up the towering escalator, and again up the steps to the exit, then walked quickly up and along to the Blomfield Road moorings, where he let himself through the gate on to the towpath and negotiated his way through the folded wooden chairs, coiled ropes, dead and dying potted plants and other detritus of towpath life. Crazy Diamond was waiting steadfastly for him on the black water. All was quiet. At either end, Ophelia and Veronica Ann were both dark and still. Frank and Lisa would be solid gone, curled on their bunks, sleeping the sleep of the seriously stoned, but Jim had the vigilant soul of a nightwatchman, he could be up and out of the cabin at the creak of a board, sweeping the vicinity with a flashlight, so Dan stepped gingerly on to the foredeck of his own vessel and turned the key carefully, silently, in the lock.

Inside, he flicked a switch and the lamps poured warm yellow light over the panelled interior: floor, ceiling, walls, all the same honeyed wood. He had a few books here, a box of CDs for the tidy little inbuilt sound system, and his old acoustic guitar, which always lived on the boat because nowadays he only ever played for himself, company on a quiet night, a workout for his fingers. There was a small armchair – a legacy from Paddy all those years before – a built-in day bed, a cooker, sink, fridge. A tiny bathroom – shower, sink, the compromised lavatory that kept Katelin in Edinburgh – and an only-just-double bed, built on a raised platform, with a porthole which by daylight framed a ritzy stuccoed villa facing him on the opposite side of the canal.