“I’ll say it won’t be easy,” sniffed Frank. “You won’t even make it past Anfield Lock. What do you think that lock-keeper’s going to do when he sees you, now that copper’s been asking questions?”

“Call the copper,” admitted Lotti, her heart sinking.

“Gotta love ’em though, Frank,” said Jim gently. “Going all the way to France to find the lad’s brother.”

“On a blinking narrowboat!” said Frank. “I know the Channel, and I’m telling you it’s not meant for a narrowboat. Boats like ours are made for flat water.”

“What’ll happen to the Sparrowhawk on the sea?” whispered Molly.

“She’ll sink!” snapped Frank. “You’d better pray for good weather. With a calm sea, you might stand a chance, if you don’t get lost. Slightest hint of a swell and she’ll be gone under the first wave.”

Molly swallowed and hugged baby Philip close.

“I reckon we should help them though, Frank,” murmured Jim.

“Help them kill themselves? I’ve a mind to run after that copper right now.”

“Come on, Frank! You’ve seen how the lad handles the boat. I reckon he could have a fair go.”

Frank snorted. “Say they do make it across, then what? Two kids alone in a country that’s been blinking torn apart by war …”

“That starling …” Jim continued softly. “Remember our Jack, before he went away? Spent ages copying it on a scrap of paper till it was just right, and kept it in his pocket. Said he didn’t know if they had starlings where he was going, but whenever he looked at it he’d think of home. Said it would bring him luck.”

Something passed over Frank’s closed face, a grimace of loss and love.

Lotti knew that look. It was the one we keep for those no longer with us. And she knew without asking that Frank and Jim’s little brother had gone away to the war, and that he had not returned.

Jim said, “Let’s help them through the next few locks at least.”

With a weary sigh, Frank nodded.

They said goodbye to Molly and Philip, and then the Starling and the Sparrowhawk went on their way, with the Starling leading. At Anfield Lock, the keeper narrowed his eyes at the Sparrowhawk. Frank asked, almost lazily, “All right, Pete?” before stepping—no, strolling—ashore.

“What you lot waiting for?” he yelled over his shoulder. “Lock’s not gonna fill itself! Jump to it—Jim, you do the gates. The kids’ll drive.”

“What’s he doing?” Lotti whispered to Jim as Frank and the lockkeeper stepped aside, deep in conversation.

“Sorting it.” Jim winked. “Don’t you worry, Charlie. Frank can sort anything. You just drive. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

“What did you tell him?” Ben called across the water, once they had come through the lock.