Matt, Pru, Edmund and Robert just stared at the entire scene, not entirely knowing what they had just walked into. None of the participants seemed to notice their audience.

“Your dog is terrorizing mine.”

“Your dog could eat mine three times over. Which looks like its primary strategy.”

“Rodney doesn’t like Bedlingtons. Never has.” The old woman almost looked like she was reveling in the ruckus.

“Great, so it’s racist too. I might have to tell my father about this mutt.”

“Father? What do you...?” The woman stopped, looking at Tim.

Matt didn’t see this stopping anytime soon, and he had a quick idea about how to finish it. He ducked inside, swiping his Canal & River Trust raincoat and slinging it on. He went back outside and cleared his throat loudly.

The scene at the side of the canal froze. It almost seemed like even the dogs looked round at who had made a sound. Of course, that was silly, but they at least seemed to quieten down. The humans finally acknowledged the boat and the occupants of it. Rachel looked at Matt and smiled. Tim looked a little confused. And the woman turned her thunder on him.

Matt gave it a beautiful second before he spoke up. “Sir, I have done all the preliminary checks I need to do. So when you wish, we are ready to set off. Do you need help with those crates, Mr. Claypath?”

Matt had said the magic word. Claypath. Tim smiled as he understood. The woman’s face quickly changed, from the initial thunder to a storm, to a weak rainfall. “Hmm,” she said. The dogs were still quietly going at it, but she grabbed the Newfoundland, almost mounting it, and pushed it on. She gave a snide look at Tim as she passed and the Newfoundland followed its master by growling at him. Amy looked after them, still yapping away.

“Amy,” Matt said, and her little head whipped around. In a second, she had jumped onto the boat and leaped up into Matt’s outstretched arms.

“Not sure who was happier to see you,” Robert muttered.

Tim and Rachel beamed at him. “Smooth work, McConnell. Very nice and stylish. Using your station to great effect.” He jumped onto the boat and gave Rachel a hand across the gap. The boat bobbed slightly, settling as it got used to its new passengers. “This is a nice boat. Props go to Edmund’s uncle, huh?”

Matt didn’t want to tell Tim why exactly saying his name worked so well. That woman with the dog was Liz Crusher, and her fear of the Claypath name was for a different reason entirely. Even if it was woefully unfounded. He shook away the thought and forgot Crusher.

Tim went inside the boat and deposited his crate of beer. There was hardly any need for it, with all Edmund had brought. But too much was always better than too little, Matthew guessed.