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home and said that she was auditioning for a role in a film that would shoot half in Bulgaria and then move to Hollywood, that she probably wouldn’t get it because she was up against proper people and she probably wasn’t quite thin enough and looked maybe a bit young for the part, but wouldn’t it be amazing? Wouldn’t it be the best thing ever? Giles Fox was in it? Imagine acting with Giles Fox! Enid had lounged back against the side of her boat, her bare feet dangling in the river, watching her quizzically as Emily practically lost her breath she was talking so fast and said,
‘It doesn’t all have to be such a hurry, Emily. There’s no rush.’
    And Emily remembered getting really annoyed, throwing her arms up and huffing and saying how it was pointless even talking to her because she didn’t understand. And lying in her box room bed that night with the answer she wished she’d said going round and round in her head:
Of course there’s a rush. Because if you don’t grab it while it’s there, then the next minute it’s gone. Of course there’s a rush.
    ‘I really do like your boat, you know?’ Emily said as she sat with her legs outstretched, swirling her brandy in the little green glass and shivering slightly in the cool evening air.
    Jack looked around as if to check what it might be like to see it for the first time. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
    ‘You’re welcome,’ she smiled, almost mocking their politeness.
    Jack chucked a stone from the deck into the river and they watched as the light from the boat caught the ripples on the water. ‘How’s your new house?’ he asked, still looking at the river.
    ‘Ruined by dreadful interior design.’
    He laughed through his nose. And his shoulders slumped back against the wooden cabin, like he was finally starting to relax since she’d arrived on the boat. Emily tucked her legs underneath her and pulled her hair out of its ponytail. ‘Do you want to help me put it back to normal? Build me a staircase or something?’
    Jack leant back and closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head. Like he’d thought this question might be coming. ‘No.’
    ‘Oh why not?’ she asked, bashing him on the shoulder. ‘Please? You could do it as rent. For the mooring.’
    He opened one eye. ‘If you want rent, I’ll pay you rent.’
    ‘I don’t want rent. I want lovely architrave.’
    He laughed, and threw another stone into the water. ‘Sorry, Em, I can’t do it. I don’t have time.’
    He didn’t look her in the eye when he said it and she knew it was a lie. She could feel it, but with Jack she still knew better than to push. She could only assume that he didn’t want to get further embroiled with her. So instead she said, ‘I’m cold. Can I borrow a blanket?’
    ‘Yeah, there’s one on the bed.’
    She stood up and headed back into the cabin. Around her on the water the ducks drifted and she could see the thin wobbly reflection of the crescent moon. She heard Jack pour another slosh of brandy into each tumbler.
    Inside it was cosy warm. The low lights from the kitchen cast the whole cabin with a soft yellow light that made her want to curl up and stay rather than head back, at some point, to her cool, dark manor. As she grabbed the blanket, she did a quick recce of Jack’s stuff. The wooden dish with coins and his keys in it. A notebook with squared paper and lots of diagrams, a pencil so short it was barely holdable with a rubber on the end flattened from use. There were a load of books stacked on a shelf, all biographies of people that she hadn’t heard of. As she was leaning over the bed to read the titles, her eye caught on the photographs pinned on the wall next to the books. One of his mum and dad when they were really young, standing in front of the lighthouse on the island. One of a group of eco-looking people, the men as equally bearded as Jack, all giving thumbs up to the camera. The shack behind them must have been the Spanish research