Monday 6 May 1985.

The canal had its own kind of time.

Joy had decided that within an hour of stepping onto Rod’s boat for the first time. Streets had clocks, and factories had sirens, and buses had timetables that never quite matched reality—but the canal ignored all of that. It moved when it wanted, as fast as it wanted, and if you tried to make it hurry it only made you look foolish.

Right now, though, she thought the canal might be on her side.

The Hartleydale Narrow Canal wound through the valley like a secret, slipping behind factories and under roads, turning corners where the town forgot to follow. The water reflected the sky in patches—grey, then blue, then grey again as clouds drifted lazily overhead.

Joy stood at the stern...

Please subscribe to keep reading.