Read Chapter 5: — NIGHT ON THE RIVER

Peter found her a two-bedroom flat in a secure development south of the city centre.

It was not beautiful. The carpet was aggressively beige and the kitchen light made everyone look slightly ill. But it was clean, safe and close enough to her parents that Margaret could help with Lily.

Peter arranged broadband, showed her how the heating worked and changed a faulty lock before Eleanor could find the landlord's number.

“You know,” she said, “normal people let tenants discover these problems gradually.”

“I'm ruining the authentic renting experience.”

That evening, after unpacking, they took Lily into the old city.

They walked beneath the walls, through streets polished by tourism and rain, past shopfronts selling tea, fudge, ghost tours and medieval merchandise of varying historical accuracy.

Near King's Staith, Lily watched boats moving along the Ouse.

“Can we go on one?”

It was the longest sentence she had spoken all day.

Peter bought tickets before Eleanor could answer.

On the upper deck, Lily clutched her rabbit and pointed at bridges. Peter invented stories about every building until Eleanor protested that he was teaching her daughter lies.

“Creative heritage interpretation.”

“Fraud.”

“Tourism.”

The city looked different from the river. Softer. Less defensive.

As twilight deepened, Eleanor remembered Arthur bringing her here as a child. He used to talk about floods, merchants, monasteries, the Minster bells and the way cities changed without entirely becoming new places.

She had spent years thinking his love of the past was fear of the future.

Maybe sometimes it was.

But memory could also be a form of care.

Lily leaned over the rail, supervised by Peter.

“Make a wish,” he told her.

“With what?”

“You don't need anything. Rivers are flexible.”

Lily closed her eyes.

“What did you wish?” Eleanor asked.

“If I tell you, it won't work.”

Peter nodded solemnly. “Correct legal procedure.”

On the walk back, Eleanor said, “Help me find a job too.”

Peter looked surprised. “Already?”

“I've been out five years. If I wait until I'm confident, I'll retire first.”

“What do you want?”

“Hospitality. Maybe.”

“You studied it.”

“A long time ago.”

“You're thirty-four, not a Roman ruin.”

“In York, that practically makes me new-build.”

For the first time since Michael died, Eleanor heard herself laugh without guilt.