‘I’m not…’ I started to say, but he’d already gone back inside and slammed the door. Like an aggressive little character on a cuckoo clock. Well, then.
I looked down at the box and frowned. It was china dolls – the same doll but in many different outfits, including a wedding dress. All of them lightly patterned with black mould. Charming. I could only imagine what that kind of damp would do to all the crochet he’d misappropriated from the charity shop.
For a second I considered turning around and heading home. It was unlikely I’d see the jumper again now. The man in the boat hadn’t exactly been gadding about town making friends. But, as I dithered on the towpath, I felt a flash of annoyance. Who was he to tell me to ‘bugger off’? I had just as much right to be here as he did and, what’s more, I wanted my bloody jumper back.
I didn’t want to step onto the boat uninvited. That seemed rude, so I leant over from my spot on the grassy bank and knocked on the narrow painted doors.
Footsteps clomped across the floor inside and moments later the doors were wrenched open. The man stuck his head out and I got a proper look at him without the sun interfering. His salt-and-pepper hair was badly in need of a trim and, aside from the jumper, his clothes were ancient – worn jeans and a pair of scuffed-up black Crocs over stripy socks. He leant in the doorway and glared at me.
‘Look, if you’re from the neighbourhood watch or the council or the bloody WI – save it. I have permission to moor up here.’
‘I’m not here about that.’ I held up a hand to silence him before he could work himself up again. ‘I just… you’re wearing my jumper. I made it.’
He blinked and raised an eyebrow, not looking any friendlier than before. ‘I bought this today. I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying.’
‘No! I’m not saying that at all.’ I felt my face turn red and wished more than anything that I’d never decided to take a walk. Or at least that I had left once I’d spotted him. I knew I was acting irrationally but it had felt so important that I get the jumper back.
I tried again. ‘I donated it this morning and…’
His disbelieving look dried the words up in my throat.
‘Look,’ he sighed. ‘I’m trying to get some work done, so either you get to the point or you get off my boat. All right?’
‘I’m not even on your ruddy boat!’ I looked down, indicated my feet and stamped on the grass to emphasise my point.
At which point I slipped on the wet grass and went careening towards the water.
Chapter 9
Ishrieked as Iwent over, arms windmilling wildly. The man on the boat tried to grab my shoulders but I was already gone. I hit the water and immediately went under, lost in a world of green and dead leaves. I saw the shape of a shopping trolley looming in the weedy dark and had just enough time to think ‘there’s no Waitrose anywhere near here’ before I was surfacing and gasping for air. My mouth tasted like old leaves and what was probably duck shit.
I’ve never been a good swimmer. In primary school I was the one stuck in the shallow pool with kids four or five years younger than me, while the rest of my class learned to dive off the high board. We had certificates from jellyfish up to shark, and a special book to put them in. My book only ever had the first certificate in it. I was a jellyfish, through and through. In the end I’d used the book to collect patterns from Aunt Lou’s magazines.
Treading water as best I could, I looked up and realised to my horror that I was drifting with the current. Already several metres away from the boat. I shared a panicked look with the man on the deck and watched him kick off his Crocs, eyes intent on me as he judged the distance.
‘WAIT!’ I yelled, nearly swallowing another mouthful of swampy canal water for my troubles.
His intense expression dissolved into surprise and annoyance. His eyebrows knitted together as he gaped at me. ‘What?’
I kicked at the water, trying to stay above the surface. ‘Take the jumper off first!’
He was definitely more annoyed than surprised now, his eyes flinty and dark. ‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s cashmere!’ I yelled defensively, flailing at the water. I could hear a duck laughing at me. I was cancelling my donations to the Wildlife Trust after this.
The man shook his head in disbelief. ‘What are you on!?’
‘Just do it!’ I called, splashing frantically. My teeth were already chattering. Despite the golden sunset, the water was shockingly cold and tasted as green as it looked.
He huffed but pulled the jumper over his head and dropped it on the deck, exposing a flash of pale skin as his shirt rucked up underneath. Within seconds he’d dived into the water and was swimming out to me. I caught sight of his furious face as he executed a precise front crawl and, to be honest, he looked like he was in two minds about just letting me drown.
When he got to me, he hooked an arm around my chest in a business-like fashion and cupped my chin. Something I vaguely remembered from the life-saving session we’d done at the start of every year’s swimming lessons. He was stronger than I’d expected him to be, given his height. The baggy jumper had been hiding the amount of muscle on his arms and his chest, which was hard against my back as he towed me along.
He propelled us back to the boat and helped me up onto the deck, where I crawled forward and got to my feet. By the time I had, he’d climbed out and was shaking his head like a dog, flicking droplets of water everywhere. His T-shirt was pasted to his body, chest heaving under it as he tried to get his breath back after the cold plunge.
‘Shouldn’t you have a… float or something?’ I gasped as the air met my soaked clothes.
‘It’s perished,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘I wasn’t expecting some idiot in cheap shoes to turn up and fall overboard.’
