‘It’s fine, I’ll drop you.’

‘No, really, I’ve clearly inconvenienced you quite enough already!’ The sarcasm was plainly apparent now.

‘Are you always this rude to complete strangers?’

‘Just give me my beer!’

He leaned forward and took the box from her arms. ‘Get on,’ he said, exhaling like the frustrated father of a teenager. ‘You’ll have to show me where.’

She stood in equally frustrated silence. On the one hand, she didn’t want to accept his help now. On the other, she had asked for it – and needed it. While she prevaricated, he reached down and loaded the gas canisters, securing them to the back of the tray with webbing straps. He threw a leg over the bike and cast her an enquiring look.

Without a word, she indignantly climbed onto the tray and sat down cross-legged between the packs of beers, her flower basket, the gas canisters and his lobsters. Their pincers had been taped together, but they were still moving, the bag rustling and creeping towards her. She gave a small squeal and tried to inch out of the way.

‘It’s best to track back that way,’ she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. He started up the trike, turning a full circle away from the marina. He took the first left inland, and immediately the path became narrow and sandy as they wound their way up the gentle hill between picket-fenced gardens and the small reddish-brown historic cabins. With nothing to hold on to, she had to splay her arms out and down on the tray, trying to balance as they went over the rough ground. The bike struggled a little with the load as they went up the hill, but soon enough they were at the top and it was an easy, level cruise the rest of the way back through the trees.

The runners were out in force now, and they attracted some amused looks from passing joggers, with Bell cross-legged on the tray and trying to avoid the wriggling lobster bag.

‘This one here,’ she said finally, pointing to the narrow lane at the end that had the gangplank running down the length of it.

He came to a stop and she jumped off.

‘How far down are you?’ he asked, squinting at the cascade of cabin roofs all the way down to the marina again.

‘It’s fine. I can get the rest of the way. It’s not far now.’ She picked up the box again and waited with her arms outstretched. Without offering to help any further, he loaded her up with the beers and the flower basket again. ‘Thank you,’ she said resentfully. ‘You’ve been very kind.’ He hadn’t been kind at all. He had been reluctantly polite. ‘Can I pay you for your help?’

He looked baffled again. ‘. . . No.’

‘Okay then. Well, thanks,’ she said briskly and turned away, walking carefully and wondering how she was going to manage on the gangways when she couldn’t see her feet. But she didn’t need to worry about falling and making a fool of herself in front of him. Her foot wasn’t even on the first tread when she heard the bike start up again, and he drove off.