Kate’s train starts to slow as it approaches the village. The service from Cornwall to London rarely calls here, but she’d had to take a stopping service after oversleeping. As they draw near to the platform, she catches a brief glimpse through a row of poplar trees of the wreck of their old boat, semi-submerged in the canal, the adjoining towpath blackened by the fire and ringed off with cones and police tape. The sight of it takes her breath away. The boat looks so forlorn, utterly broken. And then she sees a figure walking towards her. It’s Jake, hunched shoulders, defeated gait.

She grabs her bag from the overhead luggage rail and finds herself standing at the door, waiting impatiently for it to open. One other passenger at the far end of her carriage is preparing to get off and she doesn’t recognise the few people gathered on the platform. There’s a delay with the door and she begins to wonder if she misheard the announcement. Before she knows it, she’s slapping at the glass and the door slides open, fresh air is on her face and she’s running down the platform towards the canal.

And then she stops. This is crazy. What is she doing? Jake, the narrowboat, this village – it’s the old her, the life that she left behind. She needs to keep moving forward, to London. To Rob. The only other person to get off the train walks past. The woman in her carriage. Big eyebrows, like Cara Delevingne’s. She must think Kate’s a madwoman. The doors are still open. Kate glances up and down the platform, spots the guard at the far end, and starts to move back towards the train.

The guard shouts at her. ‘Stand away!’

The doors close. And she’s still on the platform.

She stands there in a daze, watching distorted reflections of herself as the shiny train pulls out without her and continues on its journey. She knows she hesitated, could have jumped back on board. When the train has gone, she’s alone at the station, the sun beating down on her. Even the birds are too hot to sing. It feels like yesterday she was here, and yet it could also be an eternity ago.

She’s about to turn when a movement in the doorway of the shelter on the opposite platform catches her eye. There are no windows. It’s just a basic wooden hut, popular with teenagers who gather there at night to drink cans of cider. She remembers the graffiti and stale smell of urine.