Skeleton couple kissing in a rope frame with roses

The rope on the bow came loose again last night, the one you tied with that sailor's knot you swore was unbreakable. I found it caught in the reeds at six, the boat drifting toward the weir as if she had somewhere better to be. I hauled her back on my own, in your old patched jacket, which still smells of your cigarettes and the Trent's mud, and I laughed out loud at myself the whole way.

Mrs Oakley from the lock cottage came down with a flask and a face full of opinions. She reckons a woman alone with a barge full of paint tins ought to be frightened. I told her I've been frightened since March and it has never once stopped me painting. You'll see the cabin when you get back. I've done roses along the roof, big ones with the thorns done properly, and the ivy has got into the hatch so I've let it stay.

The boy from the boatyard asked where you were. I said Leeds, which is near enough to a lie that the river won't mind. He's sixteen and wants to go to sea, and I told him the sea is only a bigger river that doesn't care who you are. He looked at me as though I'd said something wise. I hadn't. I was thinking of you walking off up the towpath with the speakers on your shoulder, not looking back, because you knew I'd be standing there.

Tell me when the van breaks down again, and tell me you're eating something green. I'm keeping the kettle warm and the back door open. If the rope comes loose, I'll tie it properly this time, I promise, and I'll wait for you at the lock with the lamp lit.

Yours, the one who stayed, Maud