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to him as the sun went in, making the dark teak look surly and uninviting.
    ‘You’d better appreciate this, Cecil,’ he said out loud. The old rogue had certainly caused him some trouble, Bill thought, shaking his head. Right now, he was undecided about whether to hug him or shout at him first when he next saw him. Except that bawling the old boy out wasn’t the way to thank the man who had taken him in after his mother’s death and given him security and stability.
    Seeing his uncle looking so vulnerable, his skin papery beneath the thin hospital gown, had evoked a small boy’s confusion and fear. He’d been unable to save his mother, but clutching Cecil’s hand, so frail and arthritic in his, Bill promised to do anything to give the old man a reason to live. Just knowing that the boat was on its way would give him something to look forward to. Pottering about on the backwaters of Little Spitmarsh would perk him up no end.
    In his pocket, his phone started to ring. ‘Yes,’ said Bill. ‘Speaking. Cecil Blythe’s nephew, that’s correct.’ Then he sat down and listened intently whilst the woman on the other end of the phone gently explained the situation.

Chapter Four
    May had a crick in her neck from fruitlessly trying to dry her hair under the hand drier in the cell-like shower block. It was still damp at the crown, but the long walk back to the station would take care of that and hopefully give her time to think about what she would do when she got there. Remembering there was a hair band in the bottom of her wash bag, May scooped up her thick hair, glad to have something to tame it before it turned into a total frizzball. She stretched the band and it promptly snapped.
    She leaned against the washbasin and counted to ten. Dammit! How had she become so inept that even the simplest things were beyond her? The trouble was she’d got too used to people running around fixing her hair and make-up, working their magic to conjure up an illusion of perfection. Wasn’t it about time she stood on her own two feet again? She stared at herself, a blurred image in the polished steel. The real May was in there somewhere; all she had to do was find her.
    In her pocket, her phone pinged. Another message from Aiden to add to the growing list, but nothing, she noticed, scrolling in vain, from her parents. Perhaps one day they’d surprise her and offer the sort of good, old-fashioned parental guidance she’d really appreciate right now. Yearning for familiarity nevertheless, she tapped the screen. There was no reply at Soul
Survivor, the dippy hippie shop her mother ran, and when May tried her parents’ home number she got Kurt Cobain who intoned ‘Hello’ fifteen times before Cathy’s bored voice stated, ‘Cathy and Rick. Here we are now. Entertain us.’ May told them all she was alive and kicking. Unlike Kurt Cobain, she thought, ending the call, who if he’d known that he would feature so heavily on a middle-aged suburban couple’s answerphone would probably have shot himself even sooner.
    So where did she go from here? It seemed as if she couldn’t even run away without ballsing it up. Right now it would be the easiest thing in the world to go back with her tail between her legs, before it was too late, and beg Aiden to make it all better for her.
    ‘May!’
    Someone lunged towards her the minute she got outside, but the initial shock lessened at the sight of golden sunshine gleaming on bright red hair.
    ‘Bill!’ She scowled. ‘I told you, I don’t need a lift.’
    ‘No, I know you don’t,’ he mumbled, scratching his head, ‘but the thing is, I need you.’
    Huh! So Bill had chickened out of doing the trip by himself after all.
    ‘What use could I possibly be to you? We’ve already established that my purpose was to sit around looking decorative whilst your uncle did manly stuff steering the boat, only breaking off to lavish expensive gifts on me.’ She swung her bag over her shoulder a little