Dora looked at the boat, at Tom and then at the boatyard. For what she could see, it seemed to consist of a lot of old barges and boats, a building that looked like a barn with the side missing, and a sign that could have done with a touch-up. She had heard that it had a terrific reputation -not for presentation, obviously. She opened her mouth to make her apologies.

Tom interrupted her. 'Don't be a wuss.’

He was looking at her challengingly and she remem bered she didn't have to stay if she found she hated it. 'OK, then.'

‘It's not called a slipway for nothing, is it?' she said as she slithered her way down to the water's edge.

‘Now you know why I told you to wear jeans,' said Tom. 'I hope they're not too tight. Get in.'

‘It's too late to tell me my bum looks big in these,' she said. Very gingerly she stepped into the little boat and sat down hurriedly as it tipped under her.

Tom pulled at the rope until a mud-covered weight appeared. He heaved this into the boat and picked up what seemed to be the only oar. He didn't sit down.

‘How are you going to row with only one oar?' she asked a little nervously.

‘Like this.’

Tom dipped the oar in the water, first on one side of the boat, then the other. In no time they were across.

‘How will I get over if you're not here?' asked Dora, getting to her feet and taking Tom's hand so he could steady her as she got off.

‘If there isn't a boat, you'll have to bellow and someone will get you, but there usually is one. You'll get used to it.’

Convinced that she wouldn't, Dora said nothing. In spite of being careful, there was a fair bit of mud on her jeans, but she'd just have to trust Tom that it wouldn't matter.

She followed Tom up the slipway and along to a ladder. They went up this and followed a series of planks that ran along the side of the barn that Dora now realised was a temporary workshop rigged up over a barge. From under the tarpaulin covering could be heard the sounds of banging and sawing, whistling and Radio 2.

‘Sorry about the radio,' said Tom. 'The oldies like that easy-listening stuff and the rants.’

Someone stuck his head through a gap in the canvas. 'Not so much of the oldies, young Tom. Oh, is this our new girl in the office? Does it mean we'll get proper pay slips at last? Great!' The man had thick blond hair like teased rope and a gap in his teeth revealed by his broad smile. 'Will she be in charge of brewing up?'

‘No,' said Tom. 'Come on, Dora, no need to take any notice of the riff-raff.’

Dora smiled at the riff-raff and continued to follow Tom along the planks to where there was a small wooden building. 'Fred?' he called. 'I've brought Dora.’

A small man with grey hair and a worried expression appeared at the door. 'Morning, Dora, welcome to Paper Hell. I'm Fred. Tom, put the kettle on.’

Dora followed Fred into the shed. It consisted of two desks, several filing cabinets and a couple of office chairs. The walls were papered with charts, notes, drawings, notices, calendars and blueprints. Both desks bore tottering piles of files, catalogues, magazines and unopened letters. Fred's description of it being Paper Hell seemed an understatement.

‘Sit down,' he said, removing a pile of ring binders from a chair so that she could. 'How do you like your tea? Or would you prefer coffee?'

‘Either,' said Dora to an enquiring Tom. 'Milk no sugar in whichever.'

‘Well, Dora,' said Fred, when Tom had disappeared into what looked like a lean-to. 'I hope you like a challenge.’

Dora found that she did and returned Fred's smile. 'Have you got a computer?' she asked.

‘Over there. State of the art. None of us knows how to use it.’

Dora pushed up her sleeves, actually and meta phorically. 'Where should I sit and what would you like me to do first?'

‘That's up to you, love, but there's some post that should be opened, I suppose.'

‘Can I have a free hand? I won't throw anything away unless I'm absolutely sure, but I will sort stuff into piles.’

Fred's relief spread over his face, erasing several years of worry as it did so. 'You do exactly what you like!’

Jo had known that she wouldn't be able to apply the gold leaf for a few days, until the coats of gesso were really dry, and was grateful. She was nervous of ruining such an expensive product. She cleared away her materials, stroking the cold, smooth end of her agate burnisher tenderly against her cheek for a moment before putting it in its box. Was she enjoying herself so much just because she liked the tools involved? It probably was part of it. She wiped the table, reminded of the times she'd wiped the table after Dora and Karen had made Valentine's cards, plaster models or later, jewellery. She was obviously still a little girl at heart.

As it was still only three, she decided she had plenty of time to check her emails when she'd stored everything away. She wanted to email her daughter Karen, to tell her how Dora was getting on. Karen would be impressed to hear that Dora was having a trial at a new job and completely amazed that she'd been talked into performing karaoke. Jo was amazed herself. It wasn't something she could ever have done, however drunk. She made a cup of coffee while the computer warmed up, and then clicked her way through to her Inbox and was surprised and a little unnerved to see one from Michael. He hadn't been in touch since just after she'd moved on board. Was he saying that he needed to come back immediately? *

Dear Jo, Hope all is well with The Three Sisters and you. Can you look in the boat file and tell me when she's next due a Boat Safety Examination? The file's in the case in the desk. The insurance is always due about the same time. I'll phone in a few days if you haven't read this message by then. You did say you went on-line most days. Best, Michael.

Well, she wasn't going to be made homeless immedi ately, which was good. Jo found the case and in it the file.

The Boat Safety Certificate was due to be renewed in a couple of weeks. This was a bit unnerving because it might involve her in doing something boaty – something she really didn't want to do. She shuffled through the papers until she found the insurance certificate. That was due soon too. She took both bits of paper to her laptop and started replying to Michael's email. Then she looked at the date of the Boat Safety Certificate again. She was out by a year. The Three Sisters hadn't had a valid certificate for eleven months. Feeling slightly sick, she checked the insurance. That at least was still valid, although only had a few weeks to run.

Dear Michael… She told him of her discoveries.

To her relief, she had her reply almost immediately.

Dear Jo, What a bloody nuisance! I can't believe I didn't check before. You'll have to dry dock her and have a survey to get the insurance renewed. It's best if she can go where she went last time. She needs some work done to her too. I'll arrange it. I'll be back with more details shortly. Stay on-line. Best, Michael

Jo went to make another cup of coffee to replace the one she had let go cold. She tidied the galley whilst she was waiting for the kettle to boil. All the joy she had felt modelling the little cherub's foot had been replaced by anxiety. Where would she and Dora live? And it might be very difficult for Dora, if she had just found a job she could get to love. A ting from her laptop warned her there was another message – from Michael.