The Canal Houseboat – Part 1: Double Booked

The houseboat was moored under a row of dripping lime trees, and it already had someone in it.

Tessa stood on the gangplank with her suitcase. Through the little window she could see a man unpacking a rucksack into the only wardrobe. She checked her phone. Her booking confirmation was perfect. So, apparently, was his.

"Excuse me?" She tapped on the glass.

He opened the door. He was thirty-three, tall, with sandy hair and a thick fisherman's jumper, and the sleepy, bemused look of a man who had flown overnight. "Sorry. I think you have the wrong boat."

"I think the app has the wrong boat."

They showed each other the screens. A long silence passed, in which a bicycle bell rang on the bridge and a duck complained.

"Double-booked," said Bram, in his lightly accented English.

"Completely."

"The app says it's full everywhere."

"Of course it does."

It was raining, and neither of them could face a hotel at the other end of the city. The boat had two bunks, a tiny kitchen and a deck with two chairs. Tessa was twenty-nine, a teacher from Cork on her first solo trip. Bram was a boat engineer from Rotterdam in town for a conference.

"We could share," said Bram, tentatively. "I mean, with a curtain. And rules."

"What rules?"

"No snoring."

"I can't promise that."

"Then I'll bring earplugs."

She laughed. It was the first time she'd laughed in a week.

They established a system: he made breakfast, she made tea. They hung a blanket between the bunks. At night they lay awake listening to rain on the roof and talked softly through the curtain about everything. By Thursday, the blanket had slipped down. By Friday, nobody remembered to put it up.

"Can I ask you something?" said Tessa, on the deck, with a mug of tea.

"Yes."

"Do you think it's strange? Liking someone you were meant to hate?"

"I never hated you," said Bram. "I was asleep."

"Green?" she said.

"Green," said Bram, smiling. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Last Night on the Water.