John Snell had agreed to take Ben on at the boatyard, six mornings a week from eight to one o’clock, in return for half the pay of an adult, permission to bring Elsie with him, and no questions asked about his living arrangements. Ben had spent the morning cleaning the darkest corners of a crumbling boathouse, untouched since the beginning of the war. Now he wanted to get to work on his boat, but the task was daunting. Lotti found him standing on the towpath with Elsie, examining the Sparrowhawk’s paintwork.

It is one thing to meet under extreme circumstances, when one person is running away and another person is hiding her, and there is the excitement of a stolen dog and a homecoming. It is quite another to meet in the cold light of day. For a moment, neither Lotti nor Ben knew what to say. But the dogs had no such difficulty, and it is impossible to remain awkward when you have two dogs leaping after each other around you, barking wildly. In fact, it’s impossible not to laugh. And in the end, all Lotti needed to say was, “I came back.” And all Ben needed to say was, “Shall I show you the Sparrowhawk, then?”

On board, with the dogs cavorting around her, Lotti inspected the cabin, taking in all the things that in the commotion of yesterday she had not noticed. There was the damp, the cold, the draft from the windows, but also all of Nathan’s lovely, useful details—the drawers under the berths, the fold-down table and the chairs hanging on the wall beside it, the little galley where three tin mugs hung from hooks over the sink. Best of all were the pictures, painted straight onto the walls, a new one for each of the boys’ birthdays—birds peeping out among trees, dogs running on a towpath, a black and white cat sleeping behind the stove.

“I love it,” she said. “It’s wonderful.”

“She needs a lot of work.”

“I can help!” Again, Ben heard that slight falter in Lotti’s voice, a loss of confidence, like she was afraid he would say no. But Ben didn’t want to say no. He had felt so alone, for so long …

All afternoon, watched by the dogs curled together on Ben’s berth, Ben and Lotti polished and swept and cleaned and dusted until the living quarters of the Sparrowhawk gleamed. They threw open the doors and windows to chase out the damp, they flapped sheets and blankets in the sunshine to air them. Ben cleared the stoves’ flue pipes and at last managed to light a fire.

He boiled water in the kettle and made toast, Lotti unfolded the table and together they sat down to eat.

“To the Sparrowhawk!” said Lotti, raising her mug.

“To the Sparrowhawk!” responded Ben.