He ducks back inside the cabin, now swirling with thick black smoke. Struggling to breathe, he grabs a rusty bucket from under the sink and goes back outside. The heat is intensifying, the bow of the boat starting to drift away from the shore, no longer held by the burnt-out rope. He leans over the stern, scoops up the canal water and hurls it onto the flames, desperate to save his beloved boat.

To his relief, other people on the shore have started to fill buckets too and are throwing water at the fire. A human chain of sorts has formed and with it a kernel of hope.

‘More buckets!’ Jake shouts, encouraged, ignoring the heat. The fire can be beaten, his boat saved, but then a man’s thick arm is stretching out into the cockpit. Jake grabs hold of it and is pulled onto the towpath.

‘Is there anyone else on board?’ the man asks close to his ear, an arm round his shoulders. It’s a fireman. ‘People? Any pets?’

Jake shakes his head, watching as the whole boat starts to list and drift into the middle of the canal, shrouded in smoke and flames like some ancient fireship. He needs to talk to Kate.

19

Kate

‘Don’t answer it,’ Bex says as Kate’s phone vibrates. It’s Jake.

Bex and Kate are sitting in wicker chairs on the terrace, watching the moon rise above the horizon like a polished sixpence. Her phone is on the glass table between them.

‘Ignore it,’ Bex urges as the phone starts to vibrate again. Her voice reminds Kate of when she was training Stretch. ‘I’ve switched mine off for the weekend and I suggest you do the same. How often does he ring you?’

‘He hasn’t for a month or two,’ Kate says.

They’ve had the occasional terse text exchange about practical matters – could he return an overdue book to the library, can he remember to forward her mail once a week – but no conversation in months. She’s still too angry.

‘So why’s he suddenly calling you now?’ Bex asks. ‘At eleven o’clock at night?’

‘I’ve no idea. That’s why I want to answer it.’

‘Well don’t. He’s a two-timing little—’

‘Please, Bex.’

Kate knows Jake must be calling her for a good reason. He rang her once, a week or so after she’d left hospital and was living with her mother. It was late at night and he was drunk, on his way back to the boat after a session in the pub. He was asking her to come back, let him explain, give him another chance. She told him never to ring her again.

‘Does Rob know Jake still calls you?’ Bex asks.

‘I told you, he hasn’t rung me in ages.’