There’s one thing about Rob that troubles Jake more than anything else. The first occasion he met him – the first time Kate met him – was at her hospital bedside, when the two of them were deep in conversation about art. Kate had already told Jake on an earlier visit that it was over between them and his arrival was clearly an unwelcome interruption. It wasn’t that, though. It was the ineluctable feeling that Jake had seen Rob somewhere else, a few weeks earlier. Before the accident.

He’s thought about it a lot since, wishes he had Kate’s powers of recognition, but he can’t remember where he could have seen him. Maybe in the Slaughtered Lamb, the village pub? He’s done a lot digging online, dusting down his old journalism skills to search through Rob’s various companies and high-profile life, but with no results. Perhaps it doesn’t matter if he’s seen him before. It just makes the apparently chance nature of Rob’s first encounter with Kate seem less serendipitous.

Another sound outside, this time followed by a telltale seesaw rocking motion. No imagining this time. Someone has either just stepped on or off the boat. Jake rushes out into the cockpit and sees a shadow disappearing down the towpath. He shouts after it, a deep, guttural roar. No response. And then a strong smell of petrol. The strike of a match.

Out of the darkness, a line of flames licks into life, racing along the towpath towards him like a burning snake, slithering up the mooring rope and onto the bow, where it rises into a fireball that lights up the night sky.

Jake is thrown backwards by the sudden heat, holding up his arms to shield his face. Instinctively, he grabs the rusty fire extinguisher from the locker under the seat, praying that it’s not too old, and tries to approach the fire on the foredeck. He knows already his efforts are futile. The fire is quickly taking hold of his old wooden boat, wrapping it in its flaming embrace. He curses himself for stacking so many logs on the roof to season.

And then he is aware of people on the towpath, rushing towards him from other boats moored along the canal. Some are calling out his name, others beckoning him to come ashore. He’s not abandoning his old boat yet. He’s had her for too long to let her go down without a fight.

‘Buckets!’ Jake shouts as his extinguisher runs out. ‘Get some buckets!’