The tip of the narrowboat nosed through the thin ice on the surface of the river, driving a dark path up the middle and leaving floating white islands drifting in its wake. She and Leonie were dressed in their gloves, hats, and coats, huddled low in the bow against the cold wind, their heads sticking up over the side. Sam was at the stern, holding the tiller with one hand, only his eyes visible between his woolly hat and the scarf he’d wrapped over his face. Leonie was pointing at birds in the winter trees as they passed, calling, “Wobin!” whenever she spotted anything remotely winged. The proximity of the water, combined with the toddler’s complete obliviousness to any danger, made Ruby nervous. She kept one hand wound tightly in the fabric of the little girl’s coat.

Since the incident with the stove, Leonie hadn’t mentioned her mother. She’d been fully engaged with discovering everything new about the world she found herself in. Having been confined for the entirety of her life so far, Ruby was impressed with the way she took everything in her stride, delighted in everything, laughed and charged about all day with an energy she hadn’t seemed to have when in the apartment. But minding a tiny human with no sense of danger was a full-time occupation. By six PM both of them were exhausted. Leonie slept for twelve hours every night, her little brain soaking up all of the newness and assimilating it, ready for her to leap up in the wee hours and begin all over again. Ruby had to be ready for anything, and although she found it difficult to be on duty so unrelentingly, the rewards were huge. She was seeing everything through Leonie’s eyes, as if it were new to her too. And it was wonderful.

Ruby was about to suggest to Leonie that they go inside, get warm by the fire, when the sun came out in glorious ribbons of gold, and the way it caught the ice crystals that had formed on the branches of the trees gave the scene an achingly festive, greetings-card beauty. “Look, baby, there’s a sparrow.”

“Wobin!” shouted Leonie, pointing at the small brown bird.

Sam cut the engine. The boat edged toward the towpath, where he jumped ashore and banged in a mooring pin with a mallet, securing the stern. “Throw us the rope,” he called, and he did the same with the bow end. They’d stopped by a small gate in the hedge, which led to a farmer’s field.

“Let’s go for a leg-stretch,” he said. “There’s a village just down there.”