Lulu woke at dawn. The first thing she did was go up on deck and look around. She stepped onto the wooden pier and walked along the line of narrowboats. There was a cold wind blowing across the marina and she was only wearing a sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms; she shivered. ‘Are you still worried that he’ll follow you?’ asked Conrad.
Lulu jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach. Conrad grinned. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘You move so quietly,’ said Lulu.
‘I’m a cat.’
‘Yes, you are. I sometimes forget that.’
‘And the answer to my question?’
Lulu looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know. Yes, maybe. But then he probably won’t have noticed that the figurines have gone. And even if he does, he won’t know that we were the ones who took them. I suppose it’s my guilty conscience kicking in. We did break into his boat.’
‘You picked his lock,’ said Conrad. ‘For which, kudos. And other than taking the figurines – which weren’t his to start with – you left the place exactly as you found it.’
‘I know. I know.’ She went back into the galley and put the kettle on. ‘Speaking of the figurines, I should give Jessie the good news.’
She picked up her phone and called Jessie. It took Jessie almost a minute to answer and when she did, she sounded out of breath. ‘Hello,’ she said hesitantly, and Lulu realized that she had been crying.
‘Jessie, it’s Lulu. Good news. We’ve got your figurines.’
‘You haven’t.’
Lulu laughed. ‘We have. Both of them. And you are absolutely right, the milkmaid looks just like you.’
‘In my younger days, perhaps. Oh, I can’t believe this. Really, you have them?’
‘I’m looking at them now,’ said Lulu, which wasn’t exactly true, but they were safe in a cupboard. ‘Jessie, I’m planning on coming back your way in a couple of days, are you okay to wait or I shall I send them by courier or something?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m heading to the centre of Manchester. A place called Castlefield. I’m seeing a friend today and then I’ll be leaving either tomorrow or the next day and heading your way. Are you planning on moving on?’
‘No, I’ll be here.’
‘So why don’t I bring them to you on my way back?’
‘That would be lovely. Oh, Lulu, I really can’t believe it. You’re amazing. How on earth did you get them?’
‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I see you.’
‘I shall cook a very special dinner for you and Conrad. It’s the least I can do.’
‘We look forward to it,’ said Lulu, and ended the call.
‘I bet she was happy,’ said Conrad.
‘Over the moon,’ said Lulu. She looked at her watch. ‘I’m going to shower and then we’ll head into Manchester. But first I’d better go and pay my mooring fee. I don’t want to be accused of trespassing.’
There was no one in the office, so she used her phone to take a photograph of the marina’s details. She could phone and pay by card later in the day. She heard the phut-phut-phut of a diesel engine on the canal and her breath caught in her throat. She looked over at the canal just as a narrowboat came into view. It was red and green and there were three bicycles and a row of black and white striped planters on the roof. ‘Relax, Lulu,’ she whispered to herself. ‘You’re jumping at shadows.’
She walked back to The Lark and poured Conrad a bowl of Evian water before going into the bathroom.
It took her less than ten minutes to shower and change, then she made herself a cup of coffee, started the engine and untied The Lark. Lulu always preferred driving in the early morning. There were fewer boats around and often it was as if she had the canal to herself. There was a thin mist over much of the water and she had pulled on an old skiing jacket, a red, white and blue bobble hat and wool gloves with the fingers and thumb cut off. Underneath the jacket she wore a thick pullover and baggy jeans.
Conrad kept her company, sitting next to her as she sipped her coffee with her right hand and guided the tiller with her left. Lulu resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as she was sure that Conrad would tease her for it.
The Bridgewater Canal took them into the centre of Manchester. Off to their left was the much larger Manchester Ship Canal, the thirty-six-mile waterway that linked the city to the Irish Sea. The Castlefield Basin was just three miles from the marina and it took an hour to get there. Narrowboats could moor for up to seventy-two hours in the Staffordshire arm of the basin, between the Bridgewater Canal and the Rochdale Canal. The arm split into two, like the horns of an antelope. Lulu found a free mooring on the right-hand section, close to the railway viaducts, opposite the Museum of Science and Industry. It was near a water point so, after tying up The Lark, Lulu used a hosepipe to fill up her water tank. She left the diesel engine running to charge the batteries while she carried out some basic maintenance. There were several groups of teenagers gathered on concrete steps shielded by cream-coloured tented canopies; the cloying sweet smell of cannabis wafted over.
‘Shouldn’t they be at school?’ asked Conrad.
‘They could be over eighteen,’ said Lulu.
‘That’s almost ninety in cat years.’
‘Yes. But you get nine lives.’
‘So they say.’ Conrad sniffed the air. ‘Catnip for humans.’
Lulu chuckled. ‘I suppose it is.’
‘What is that place, where they’re sitting?’ asked Conrad. ‘I assume it wasn’t built as a cannabis-smoking area.’
‘According to the canal guide, it’s the Castlefield Bowl, an outdoor music and entertainment venue. It can seat up to eight thousand people. I don’t think there’s anything scheduled for when we’re here.’
Trams rattled across the bridge at regular intervals as Lulu worked on The Lark. She hoped they didn’t run all night. She checked the oil levels – everything was fine – then she checked and cleaned the engine. She made sure the bilge pumps were working and inspected the three batteries. The toilet would have to be emptied at some point but it was good for a few more days. When she had finished she took another shower, applied some make-up and changed into one of her favourite Karen Millen dresses, white with large poppies on it.
Conrad nodded his approval as she walked out of the cabin. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
‘Why, thank you, kind sir.’
‘Are you going somewhere special?’
‘Lunch with an old friend.’
‘Am I invited?’
Lulu laughed. ‘Well, of course you are. You’re my plus one.’
‘Plus one? I like the sound of that.’
‘Then let’s go.’ She slipped on a linen jacket and then bent down so that Conrad could jump up onto her shoulders. She went carefully up the steps and locked the door, then stepped onto the towpath.
A young woman was sitting on a wicker chair on the roof of the adjacent narrowboat. ‘There’s no need to lock up,’ she called. ‘Safe as houses, here. I come here every couple of weeks and I’ve never had a problem.’ She had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and was wearing denim dungarees.
‘That’s good to know,’ said Lulu. ‘It’s my first time here.’
‘Oh, I’m here lots,’ said the woman. ‘It’s a nice place with lovely people. I come and go and never lock my boat.’
Her boat was a few metres shorter than The Lark, dark blue with gold trim. As Lulu drew level with the boat, she saw the name painted on the side. Bee Happy. There were half a dozen cartoon bees flying around the name. ‘Oh, I love the name of your boat,’ said Lulu. ‘That’s so funny.’
‘It was my husband’s idea,’ she said. ‘He’s a copywriter. He does a lot of advertising work.’
‘And you live aboard?’
‘We do. Have done for almost five years. Sold our house and bought this. And we’ve never looked back. Davey – my husband – does a lot of freelance work and I’m a graphic designer. Digital nomads is what they call us. With a decent Wi-Fi set-up, we can work anywhere. What about you?’
‘I’m retired,’ said Lulu. ‘Just pottering around with Conrad, most of the time.’
‘That’s lovely,’ said the woman. ‘And what a distinguished name. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Conrad. I’m Laura, by the way.’
‘I’m Lulu. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Are you off somewhere nice?’
‘Lunch with a friend,’ said Lulu. ‘A place called the Wharf. Do you know it?’
‘Oh, yes, the Wharf is lovely.’ She pointed off down the towpath. ‘About a hundred yards that way. They do marvellous food.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Lulu. She set off down the towpath. It was a gloriously sunny day with only a few wisps of cloud overhead. They walked over a bridge that crossed the Castlefield Basin, where only long-term mooring was permitted. A young man in a wetsuit was clearing weeds from around the propeller of a Dutch barge and tossing them onto the towpath.
‘That doesn’t look fun,’ said Conrad.
‘Part of the joy of owning a canal boat.’
‘Do you ever have to do that?’
Lulu laughed. ‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘But I don’t have to get into the water, I can lean over the side to clear the propeller.’
The Wharf was indeed just a hundred yards away from where they had moored The Lark, and over that hundred yards Lulu received half a dozen smiles and greetings from people who were surprised – and apparently delighted – to see Conrad riding on her shoulders.
Jane Mackenzie was sitting at an outside table, a glass of white wine in front of her and a bottle in an ice bucket at her side. Jane and Lulu had been friends since school, but back then she had been Jane Higgins. She hadn’t lived far from Lulu in a council block on Edgware Road and they had often played together in the Paddington Recreation Ground, a large park on the edge of Maida Vale popular with dog walkers and joggers. Jane had married a couple of years before Lulu. Her husband, Clive, was a BBC television producer and for twenty years or so they had lived in Shepherd’s Bush and he had worked at Broadcasting House in Portland Place, but then the BBC began regionalizing its staff and Clive was transferred to Manchester. Jane – a teacher – had hated the idea of leaving London, but they had no children and there were plenty of job opportunities for teaching in Manchester, so they moved. The two friends had kept in touch and Jane often met Lulu in London for lunch, or Lulu would take the train up to see her in Manchester. Over the years, Jane had grown to appreciate the city, though she always felt as if she was a misplaced Londoner; their lunches were usually spent with Jane asking countless questions to catch up with the life she felt she was missing. Now her face broke into a smile when she spotted Lulu, and she leaped to her feet. She was tiny, barely five feet tall in her heels, her hair dyed a vibrant chestnut colour and her skin tanned. She had sunglasses pushed back on her head and was wearing a blue and white dress that Lulu was fairly sure was Karen Millen. They had both always loved the designer.
‘Lulu!’ she exclaimed, and moved forward with her arms outstretched for a hug. She stopped when she saw Conrad. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘There’s a cat. On your shoulders.’
‘This is Conrad,’ said Lulu.
‘He’s amazing.’
‘Yes, he is.’
They hugged and planted kisses on each other’s cheeks. ‘I wanted to sit outside, it’s such a glorious day,’ said Jane, gesturing at the table.
‘Outside is fine,’ said Lulu. ‘Most restaurants don’t like cats inside anyway.’
They sat down and Jane poured wine into a glass for Lulu. Conrad jumped down onto an empty chair and curled up, his nose against his tail. Lulu and Jane toasted each other and drank. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ said Jane. ‘This is, what, only your third visit to Manchester?’
‘Fourth. And this one is my first on The Lark.’
‘I can’t believe you sailed all the way up here.’
Lulu laughed. ‘Well, you drive a narrowboat rather than sail it. But yes, it’s my first time bringing The Lark here.’
A young waiter wearing a black shirt and jeans came over and gave them menus. ‘Oh, I know what I want,’ said Jane. ‘Can I have the roasted cauliflower, chickpea and spinach burrito?’
‘With mango chutney and coconut yoghurt?’
‘Oh yes, please.’
The waiter smiled at Lulu.
‘I’ll have the baked hake with spring vegetables and new potatoes,’ she said. ‘And could you possibly put the tartare sauce on the side?’
The waiter grinned. ‘Because your cat doesn’t like tartare sauce?’
Lulu smiled. ‘Exactly.’
‘I quite understand.’ He leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘Actually, I’ll get the chef to do a separate fillet for you. With our compliments.’
‘Oh, no, please don’t go to any trouble.’
‘It’ll be fine. The chef is a big fan of cats. And he has a calico himself.’
‘Well, that would be lovely,’ said Lulu. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘I don’t remember you having a cat when I last saw you in London,’ said Jane as the waiter left.
‘I didn’t, back then,’ said Lulu. ‘He walked into my life – literally – after I’d moved onto The Lark. I was in the galley one day and Conrad strolled along the towpath and that was that.’
‘And he doesn’t have a collar?’
‘A collar implies ownership, and I don’t own Conrad. If anything, I’d say that he owns me.’ She smiled. ‘I’m just grateful that he came into my life.’
‘Well, he’s a lovely boy,’ said Jane. ‘And he goes everywhere with you?’
‘He does,’ said Lulu. ‘And what about you? Do you think you’ll stay in Manchester?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe I should get a boat like you. Just go where the spirit takes me.’
‘It can be very freeing,’ said Lulu. ‘And every day is an adventure.’
‘I bet,’ said Jane. ‘But how do you manage those lock things on your own? I’m assuming that Conrad isn’t much help.’
‘True, locks are much easier if there’s two or three of you, but you can do them on your own. There’s a lot of to-ing and fro-ing and climbing up and down, but it’s perfectly doable. Why don’t you come with us for a day or two? My sofa converts into a berth, so you could spend the night.’
‘Let me think about that,’ said Jane. She sighed and picked up her glass.
‘Are you okay? That sounded like a sad sigh.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing to worry you about, anyway.’
‘Now I’m intrigued. Tell me.’
Jane sighed again. ‘It’ll sound stupid.’
‘At least let me be the judge of that.’
‘I’ve met someone,’ Jane said.
‘Oh, well, that’s good,’ said Lulu. She frowned. ‘Isn’t it?’
Jane was a widow. In fact, Clive had passed away exactly a year to the day before Lulu’s husband, Simon, had died. Jane had gone through a very brief phase of referring to the two of them as the Merry Widows but neither had been in the least bit merry and she hadn’t kept it up for long.
Clive had died from a massive heart attack while filming a documentary in Poland, and Jane had been distraught. She had flown over to bring back the body and Lulu and Simon had driven up to Manchester for the funeral. The Mackenzies’ plan had always been to spend their retirement in their villa in Spain, but Jane didn’t have the heart to move abroad on her own.
Lulu wasn’t surprised that Jane had met someone; she was pretty and vivacious with a killer sense of humour. And years of teaching had given her a confidence that many men found attractive.
‘It’s fantastic,’ Jane said.
‘How did you meet?’
Jane shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘One of those dating apps,’ she said quietly.
‘Really?’ Lulu laughed. ‘Swipe right, swipe left?’
‘I wasn’t taking it seriously. I was just passing the time, really. But his profile jumped out at me.’
‘Young? Fit? Handsome?’
‘Lulu, stop it! He’s age appropriate, a couple of years older than me, actually. He has a George Clooney vibe, loves animals . . .’
‘Enjoys walks on the beach and watching the sun go down.’
‘I know, I know, the profile was every woman’s dream. But we started chatting and I met him and . . . well, he’s asked me to marry him.’
Lulu’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘He wants to get married. He says I’m the love of his life.’
‘Jane, that’s amazing. Congratulations. When did all this happen?’
‘The proposal? Two weeks ago.’
‘So when is the wedding?’
‘I’m still thinking about it.’
‘You’ve got doubts?’
‘Not doubts, not really. I’m just . . .’ She pulled a face and shifted in her chair again. ‘Oh, Lulu, I don’t know. I just . . . I know so little about him.’
‘You talk, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes. We never stop talking. We laugh, we joke, we talk about books, about movies, politics – everything. But I don’t really know anything about him.’
‘Then you need to ask the right questions.’
‘I do. But . . .’ She gestured helplessly.
‘He’s evasive?’
‘No, not evasive. But he’s light on details.’
‘Tell me what you do know.’
Jane took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Okay, so his name is Jeremy Connolly, he’s retired but has investments, mainly in Ireland. He lives in Dublin, says that he’s never been married, no children. He has a sister in Melbourne and a brother in Sydney.’
‘So he’s Australian?’
‘No, he’s English. Or Irish. He’s vague about that, too. His parents died when he was young and the kids went to live with their grandmother. It wasn’t the best of experiences and, as soon as they could, his brother and sister emigrated.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘They went on that visa programme that allows youngsters to work in Australia.’
‘The working holiday visa?’
‘That’s it. They both married Australians and never came back. But Jeremy stayed in the UK. He started as a labourer on building sites and then got into property development. Now he owns a few commercial buildings and flats that are rented out.’
‘It sounds like you know everything about him, Jane.’
‘I’ve never met any of his friends, or his family. I’ve never been to his house in Dublin. He’s just very vague about things.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain. I ask him questions and he answers, but his answers don’t always give me the information I’m looking for. Not that I’m probing, it’s not that, but sometimes talking to him is like grabbing at mist.’ She frowned. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Lulu. ‘I’ve interviewed people like that. Many times. They talk and they talk and they talk but they end up telling you nothing.’
‘That’s it, exactly.’
‘If you think he’s holding something back, why don’t you hire a private detective?’
‘A gumshoe? Oh, I couldn’t.’
‘Actually, you could. Easiest thing in the world. Lots of former police detectives set up on their own after they leave the job.’
‘Oh, but Lulu, that would be so . . . I don’t know . . . sordid.’
‘Nothing sordid about it.’
‘But suppose he is Mr Right, how would it look when I told him that I’d paid a private detective to check him out? It would suggest that I didn’t trust him, wouldn’t it?’
‘Jane, darling, if you did trust him then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?’
‘It’s not that I don’t trust him.’ She grimaced. ‘No, you’re right, of course. You always are, Lulu. The voice of reason in a world that’s gone mad.’ She leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice, like a spy about to betray her country. ‘Could you help me? Could you, you know, make some enquiries?’
Lulu laughed. ‘Jane, I’m not a police officer any more. And even if I was, I couldn’t start checking up on people for personal reasons. That would mean breaking the Data Protection Act, if nothing else. Abuse of the Police National Computer is a very serious offence.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Look, have you tried social media? Is he on Facebook or Instagram?’
‘No. None of those. He says he thinks it trivializes life and I have to say that I agree with him.’
‘You said he lives in Dublin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does he have an address?’
‘I can hardly ask him outright for his address, can I?’
‘Tell him you want to send him something. What about his driving licence? Can you get to see that?’
‘What are you suggesting? That I go through his wallet while he’s in the shower?’
‘Jane, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t check him out without, well, checking him out.’
‘I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him. Lulu, please, can’t you just . . .’ She sighed. ‘I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?’
‘No, you’ve met someone new and you’re apprehensive. That’s understandable. What are you worried about – that he’s been married before?’
‘Oh no, that wouldn’t really matter. Not if he was up front about it. I was married, Lulu, more than thirty very happy years, most of them. I’m not looking for a husband. A partner, maybe. Someone I can share my life with. The rest of my life, anyway.’ She smiled and gestured at Conrad. He had started scratching his ear. ‘Someone like Conrad. Someone I can go for lunch with, curl up and watch Netflix with, someone I can go on holiday with.’
‘It sounds as if you have that already.’
‘Yes, I do. But now he wants to marry me, and . . .’ She sighed again and took another gulp of wine. ‘I’m not rich, Lulu. Not rich, rich, anyway. Compared with the life my parents had, I am, of course. They lived most of their lives in that poky council flat with its damp walls and noisy plumbing. Now I live in a four-bedroom house that’s worth half a million pounds, I have the cottage in Norfolk that Clive inherited from his parents, and I have the villa in Marbella that was Clive’s pride and joy. I have money in the bank and Clive’s share portfolio, and I get his pension and my teaching pension.’
‘And you think Jeremy has his sights set on your money?’
‘No, of course not.’ She pulled a face. ‘Well, the thought has crossed my mind, yes. He did propose very quickly, as if he’s in a rush.’
‘Does he know about the cottage and the villa?’
Jane nodded. ‘We’ve stayed in both. He loves the villa. But who wouldn’t? The pool is amazing. And the sea views . . . You never came out to the villa, did you?’
‘We always meant to,’ said Lulu.
‘Simon would have loved it. And just down the road is this most amazing little tapas place. They do an albondigas en salsa that just melts in your mouth.’ She looked wistful. ‘Maybe I’m overthinking it all. It’s just that he knows so much about me and I know so little about him.’ She paused. ‘Say I do marry him and then it all goes wrong and we divorce. He’d be entitled to half of everything I have.’
‘Well, yes, unless you had a prenup – but you would also be entitled to half of everything he has.’
‘Except that I don’t know what he has. He might be penniless for all I know.’
‘He doesn’t pay for anything?’
Jane laughed. ‘He’s not a gigolo, Lulu. Of course he pays. Actually he pays for most things. He’s very generous. He never lets me pay for meals and he always buys the tickets when we go anywhere. He talks about his investments, but I don’t really know whether he has money or not.’
‘Does that matter? If you’re happy.’
‘I don’t care if he’s rich or not. I enjoy his company, he makes me laugh, we have fun together.’
‘And the sex?’
Jane’s jaw dropped. ‘Lulu!’
‘Well, it has to be asked, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it? Really?’ She chuckled and shook her head. ‘The sex is fine, Lulu, thank you for asking.’ She drank some wine to hide her embarrassment. ‘You’re terrible.’
‘You see, if it’s all as good as you say it is, there’s nothing to be worried about. Just carry on as you are, enjoying each other.’
‘Well, I would, but, as I said, Jeremy wants to get married.’
‘And what about you, Jane? It takes two to tango.’
‘I don’t know. It’d be nice to grow old with someone.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Grow older with someone, I mean.’
‘And he’s the one?’
‘He’s lovely, Lulu. He’s everything a woman could want.’
‘I sense there’s still a “but” coming.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. There’s just this nagging doubt.’
‘How long have you known him?’
‘Three months. Almost four.’
‘That’s no time at all.’
‘Jeremy says if it’s right, it’s right.’
‘It sounds as if he might be rushing you, and that’s not good.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She looked up. ‘You know what might be a good idea?’
Lulu smiled; she had a feeling she knew what was coming, and that it was what the conversation had been leading up to. ‘What?’
‘Why don’t you meet him? You can come to dinner with us tonight. At the house. Jeremy loves to cook.’ She nodded at Conrad. ‘And bring Conrad.’
‘My plus one?’
‘Exactly. You can both get to meet him and let me know what you think.’
Lulu raised her glass. ‘Sounds like a plan.’