Page 38 of A Slow Fire Burning

She found theLorrainemoored exactly where Miriam had said it would be, just a few yards farther along from where Daniel’s boat had been. That boat was gone now; there was another in its place, a much smarter, tidier one with an expensive-looking bike attached to the roof. It was strange, going back down there. It was like he’d been erased, every trace of him. Strange in a good way: it was like that thing had never happened, like it had been a dream—look, there’s no dirty blue boat here! That thing you thought happened? It didn’t. It was a nightmare. You can wake up now.

TheLorrainewasn’t like the dirty blue boat at all; it was long and sleek, painted green with a red trim. There were well-tended potted plants on the roof, solar panels at one end; it looked tidy and clean and lived-in. It looked like somebody’s home.

Laura stood outside it, on the towpath, wondering where exactly it was that one knocked when one wanted to attract the attention of whoever lived in a boat (on the window? That seemed intrusive), when Miriam emerged, stepping through the cabin doors onto the back deck. Her frizzy hair was down; it hung limp on her shoulders, echoing the shape of a tentlike linen dress. Miriam’s legs and feet were bare and startlingly white, as though they’d not seen the sun in a very long time. Her toenails were long, yellowing slightly. Laurawrinkled her nose, stepping back a little. The movement caught Miriam’s attention.

“What the hell doyouwant?” she snarled.

“Your home is really lovely,” Laura said, staring dumbly at the boat before her. “It’s really pretty.” Miriam said nothing. She folded her arms across her chest, glowering at Laura from beneath her lank hair. Laura bit a nail. “The reason I came is that I wanted to say sorry for how rude I was. I wanted to explain—”

“I’m not interested,” Miriam said, but she didn’t move or turn away; she remained on the back deck, looking Laura directly in the eye.

“I say stupid things. I do it all the time, it’s not even... I mean itismy fault but it’s not always something I can control.” Miriam cocked her head to one side. She was listening. “It’s a thing I have, a condition. It’s called disinhibition. It’s from the accident. You know I told you about the accident I had when I was younger? Please,” Laura said, taking a step toward the boat. She hung her head. “I only wanted to say I was sorry. I was horrible to you, and you were only trying to help me, I see that now. I’m really sorry.”

Miriam glowered a little longer. She turned away, as if to go back into the boat, then turned back to face Laura again. At last, she relented. “Come on, then,” she snapped. “You’d better come in.”

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Laura walked up and down the cabin space. “It’s so...homey, isn’t it? I didn’t think these boats could be socozy.” Miriam nodded, her mouth a firm line, but Laura could tell, from the glow in her cheeks, the expression in her eyes, she was pleased. Miriam offered tea; she put the kettle on and collected mugs from a cupboard. Laura continued to look around, running herfingers over book spines, picking up the framed photograph of Miriam with her parents. “This is you! You can see it’s you, can’t you? You haven’t changed that much,” she said, thinking, you were ugly then and all. “Your mum and dad look like nice people.”

“They were,” Miriam said. She’d hoisted herself up onto the bench opposite where Laura stood.

“Oh”—Laura turned to look at her—“they not around anymore? Sorry. My parents are a dead loss. I told you that, didn’t I? My dad means well but my mum’s a nightmare, and the thing with her is, no matter how shit she is, right, I always end up forgiving her, don’t know why. I can’t help myself.”

The kettle whistled; Miriam got up and removed it from the hob. She folded her arms once more across her chest, watching Laura with a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’re damaged, that’s why,” she said at last. “I don’t mean that as a criticism; it’s an observation. Things were done to you when you were younger that left you with scars, inside and out. Isn’t that right?” Laura nodded. She backed away a little, so that she was leaning right up against the bookshelf. “When I came to your home and you laughed at me and mocked me—no, no, don’t say anything, just listen—when that happened, I told you that we were similar, and you said that we weren’t, but you were wrong. I recognize the damage in you, because I’ve been damaged too, you see. Something happened to me when I was a girl, something that marked me.”

Laura sidled along the back of the cabin, toward the bench that ran along one of its sides. She hopped up onto it, crossing her legs as she did, leaning forward, her curiosity piqued. “How do you mean?” she asked. “What happened?”

Miriam reached for the kettle, picked it up, and then put it down again. She turned to face Laura. “When I was fifteen years old,” she said quietly, her expression grave, “I was abducted.”

Laura was so surprised, she almost laughed. She covered her mouth with her hand just in time. “You... you wereabducted? Are you being serious?”

Miriam nodded. “I was with a friend. We bunked off school one day, we were hitchhiking. A man picked us up and he... he took us to a house. A farm. He locked me in a room.” She turned away again, her fat little fingers holding on to the edge of the counter. “He locked me in, but I managed to break a window; I managed to escape.”

“Jesus.That is, like, unbelievable.” Laura meant it, literally; she couldn’t be sure whether to believe Miriam. “That’s really horrible. Were you hurt?” Miriam nodded. “Fuck. Man, I’m sorry, that is... that is properly scary. Was your friend hurt too?” Miriam said nothing. She didn’t move but Laura could see her knuckles whitening. “Miriam?”

“I couldn’t help her,” Miriam said quietly. “I ran away.”

“Oh, God. Oh my God.” Laura, for once, was lost for words. She shook her head, her hand covering her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. “But then...?” Miriam gave a cursory nod. “Oh, God,” Laura said again. “When was this? I mean, you were fifteen so this was like... the seventies?”

“Eighties,” Miriam said.

“And... what happened, I mean, afterward, Jesus. I can’t even imagine this; I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for you.”

For a long moment Miriam stood and looked at her, and then, without speaking, she turned away, squeezing through the door from the main cabin into what Laura assumed must be the sleeping area at the end of the boat; when she returned, she had in her hands a sheaf of papers. “If you’re really interested,” she said, “you could read this. It’s the book I wrote about it. What happened, how itaffected me.” Miriam held out the papers, which had been bound into a hefty manuscript. “You could...” Miriam’s face was flushed, her eyes shining. “I suppose you could read it if you want.”

Without thinking, Laura shook her head. “I’m not much of a reader,” she said, and watched Miriam snatch the manuscript back to her chest, all the warmth disappearing from her eyes, her mouth turning down, expression souring. “I mean... I really would like to read it,” Laura said, holding out her hand. Miriam pulled away. “Only, it might take me a while, because, like, I’m really, really slow. I mean, not like I’m slow in the head, though some people might say that too, although actually when I was little they said I was gifted and I used to read, like, all the time, but then after the accident I just couldn’t concentrate on anything and I kind of lost the habit, do you know what I mean?” Laura bit her lip. “I would really like to read it, it sounds like—” What did it sound like? It sounded awful, devastating. “It sounds like such an interesting story.”

Warily, Miriam handed over the manuscript. “You can take your time. But please be careful with it,” she said.

Laura nodded vigorously. “I won’t let it out of my sight,” she said, and she shoved the manuscript into her backpack. They slipped back into awkward silence. Laura gazed hopefully at the kettle.

“Have the police been in touch with you?” Miriam asked her. Laura shook her head. “Good. That’s good, isn’t it?”

Laura chewed her lip. “I suppose. I don’t really know. I keep looking on the news to see if there’s been any... progress, but there doesn’t seem to be.”

“No, there doesn’t, does there?”

And the silence descended again.

“I could murder a cup of tea,” Laura said.

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