As Jake approaches the next set of lock gates, an attractive woman he doesn’t recognise appears out of nowhere with a black plastic bag.

‘Brought you some spare clothes,’ she says. ‘Used to belong to my husband. He left them when he moved out. I heard what happened, thought they might help. You’re about his size.’

‘Out of shape, you mean,’ Jake says, grinning. ‘Thanks. That’s kind.’

‘I’ve seen you around but never said hello,’ she says, smiling at him.

Jake smiles back at her, flattered by the attention. Maybe there’s an upside to everything that’s happened. He remembers the nurse who circled his father, a GP, when his mother passed away, turning up announced at the house before she’d even been buried. Her haste was unseemly, but it had given his father hope, a glimpse of a life beyond. No one’s died but maybe that what’s going on here.

‘I read one of your books,’ the woman continues, squinting in the sunshine.

‘Really?’ It’s the first piece of good news Jake has heard in a while.

‘Yeah, bought it in a charity shop for 10p.’ Ouch. ‘You got somewhere to stay tonight?’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he lies, all interest in the woman wilting. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Ten p in a bloody charity shop?

One half-formed plan is to hitch down to Cornwall and camp where he and Kate used to stay. It’s busy this time of year, but the owner always used to squeeze them in. His tent was his only possession not on board the boat – he’d lent it to a friend in the village. It just depends if the police or the Canal and River Trust want to speak to him again today about salvage.

‘See you around then,’ she says, smiling at him again before walking on down the towpath.

He’s about to call after the woman, ask her name, maybe see if she wants to meet for a drink, when his phone buzzes. It’s a text from Bex. No doubt more grief for the shabby, hopeless life he leads. But it’s not.

Just heard about the fire. Glad you’re OK. Please stay in my place. There’s a spare bedroom downstairs. Key’s under flowerpot by back door. Bex x

23

Kate

‘Where’s Bex?’ Rob asks on speakerphone as Kate makes herself a fruit smoothie in the kitchen. He taught her the recipe: blueberries, avocado and chia seeds. Superfood for the brain. He tried to facetime her first, but she kept cutting him off, hoping that he’d think the signal wasn’t strong enough. It often isn’t, down here, much to his frustration and her relief. She’s feeling better this morning, but she still can’t cope with seeing his face.

‘Sleeping,’ she says. ‘We had a late night.’

‘Heavy one?’