She’d thought of going back and riding the same bus on the same route in the hopes of finding her, so she could apologize and explain that she had this problem, that when she was stressed or tired or angry she said things she didn’t mean （which of course wasn’t true; the problem was that she said things she did mean, but the woman didn’t have to know that）。 The thing was, she couldn’t remember what bus it was.
Still, thinking about the woman on the bus made her think about Miriam, about the look on her face, how shocked and hurt she had seemed when Laura taunted her, when she had laughed at her. Miriam was strange and off-putting and Laura didn’t feel bad about what she’d done in the same way she did about the woman on the bus, she certainly wasn’t crying over it, but still. It had been pretty fucking uncalled for. There had been no need to be cruel. She hadn’t really meant to be; she’d just got carried away. And since she couldn’t apologize to the person she wanted to apologize to, she may as well apologize to Miriam. She knew, at least, where Miriam lived.
She found the Lorraine moored 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.
The Lorraine wasn’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. Laura wrinkled her nose, stepping back a little. The movement caught Miriam’s attention.
“What the hell do you want?” 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 it is my 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 so cozy.” 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 her fingers 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.