Chapter 1
ONE MONTH LATER
R osie took a moment to stare at the buildings around her, taking in the architecture she’d spent so long looking at in photos and videos since making her decision to move.
The sloping gambrel roofs with curving eaves, the equally portioned windows, the houses bunched together like they were squidged in shoulder to shoulder.
No wonder the canal belt was a UNESCO world heritage site.
It was breathtaking, screaming its history but also relaxed and calm.
The air smelt different in Amsterdam too.
Rosie couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but there was definitely something.
Maybe it was the lack of pollution: the absence of dense petrol fumes that filled the city, contaminating your lungs, sitting on your skin and hair.
Perhaps it was the canals. Or perhaps it was simply the freedom?
Paused halfway along a bridge built of red brick with dark iron railings and old-fashioned Victorian-style street lamps, the water rushing beneath her feet, Rosie wrinkled her nose, breathing deeper. Whatever it was, she liked it.
She took another big breath and let her shoulders drop.
She was here. She’d made it. Despite her sister’s (albeit potentially justified) worries, she had done it and, right now, she wasn’t regretting a single thing.
Her worldly essentials were crammed into a large suitcase that she dragged along behind her.
For some, the racket would have been annoying, but for Rosie it was like a soundtrack to a new life.
Here she was, walking the Amsterdam streets with her case, not having to sidestep commuters and tourists as she would in London.
As Rosie had packed, she’d realised how few possessions she actually owned.
Yes, there was the coffee machine that ground the beans and steamed the milk, and there were other utensils that kitted out her flat.
But there were only a few things that actually mattered; like her jewellery, some of which came from her mum, and her photos, all of which fitted into the suitcase with her clothes.
It reinforced her new-found belief that she didn’t need to fill her life with needless possessions in place of actually searching out and pursuing her passion.
But at least she’d identified it now and was doing everything she could to make it real.
Rosie walked along the canal side, looking for the houseboat she’d rented.
It was called the Forget-Me-Knot and she had to admit, she’d chosen it mainly for the name.
Most had been called things like Alternative Girlfriend and Captain Boaty as well as the run-of-the-mill names of people the owners knew and loved.
Not only had most of them been out of her price range, but she’d also felt an instant connection to the small boat with a flowery name.
It had seemed like a good omen– a sign from above, maybe from her mum– that this was definitely the right thing to do and where she was meant to be.
The tree-lined street was quintessentially Dutch, with the relaxed vibes of a city everyone loved, while also showcasing the slight edginess of Amsterdam.
As Rosie walked along, her case still making a racket behind her, she had no doubt she’d be happy here.
The bright summer sun glittered off the water and dappled through the bushy branches, sending shadows dancing over the street.
Ducks paddled and she even caught sight of a swan, but before she could take a photo it had passed under a bridge and out of sight.
When she passed through the shadows, walking beside the bikes tied to the railings that lined the bank, the coolness swept her skin, providing a welcome break from the heat of the mid-afternoon sun.
She’d worn shorts and a T-shirt, her feet clad in her most comfortable trainers.
She was embracing not having to wear unflattering suits, or worse, a uniform.
Some of the waitressing ones she’d had were truly awful, all itchy polyester and far too tight over her hips.
Rosie checked her phone. It was nearing three o’clock which was when she’d arranged to meet her new landlord, Piet, the man she was renting the houseboat from.
She quickened her pace. Hope grew with each step as she passed gorgeous houseboats painted in all manner of colours, their decks decorated with tables and chairs and vibrant flower pots, the colourful blooms looking even more beautiful when contrasted against the dark wood.
Some looked so incredibly luxurious with leather sofas and large living areas that she wondered if celebrities lived there.
Rosie’s list of possible new homes had been pretty small to start with, but she’d decided to go for something traditional-looking, rather than a white, shiny new boat.
It had just seemed more... authentic, somehow– and, if she was honest, everything else was out of her price range, so she’d thought herself lucky when she’d secured a houseboat in a city known for its canals.
‘Hello there!’ called a man with bushy dark hair and angular features. He smiled and waved. ‘You’re Rosie, aren’t you?’
Gosh, did she look so out of place he could tell she was a tourist already? She had hoped she’d fit in, though the giant suitcase was probably a giveaway that she was indeed the woman from England he was waiting for.
‘Hello!’ she called back. ‘ Begroeting !’ She’d been practising with Duolingo ever since she’d decided to move, but must have got something wrong with her pronunciation as the man frowned and looked decidedly confused.
‘Did I get that wrong?’ she asked, coming to a stop in front of him, sweat prickling the skin at her hairline in the fierce summer sun.
‘Not at all,’ he replied, the smile returning. ‘But we don’t really say that anymore. It’s quite formal. We normally just say hallo.’
He’d pronounced it with an ‘a’ sound rather than an ‘e’, and she made a mental note to copy him the next time she said it.
‘Right. I’ll remember that. So this is the Forget-Me-Knot , is it?’ She turned to look at the boat, and for a moment was sure the utter disappointment that flooded her system was evident on her face. Her throat tightened and her mouth went dry.
The boat still technically looked like the picture.
Only now she was certain some liberties had been taken with Photoshop or one of those hide-your-flaws filters.
It had the dark wood she loved, but it looked more like a garden shed, and the paint was peeling on the housey bit.
(It probably had a special name but she hadn’t learned that yet.
She really was going to have to brush up on her nautical lingo.) The windows had condensation pooling between their double-glazed panes, which spoke to broken seals, and the little fence-type thing that ran all the way around as some kind of safety measure (a pretty useless safety measure at that) was broken in more than one place.
She quickly schooled her features, though her heart sank.
‘This is it,’ Piet replied, gesturing like this was Buckingham Palace or The Ritz and she should be gasping in shock and awe. ‘One of my favourite rentals. It’s always popular. You’re lucky I was able to give it to you as a longer let.’
She wasn’t entirely sure about that. It was true she’d had difficulty finding others with such availability, but by the look of the Forget-Me-Knot , it was more likely that no one wanted this place.
Rosie banished the thought as soon as it arrived.
She would stay positive. For all she knew, the inside was beautiful and cosy, and she could fix up the outside. Surely it wouldn’t take too long.
‘Now, here are the keys,’ said Piet, forcing them into her hand with such speed her fingers had no choice but to take them. ‘Enjoy your stay, goodbye!’
And with that he was off, waving as he went but walking so quickly Rosie had the distinct impression something was wrong. Panic began to rise up and she forced herself to take a breath of the fresh Amsterdam air.
‘Well, that was a suspiciously quick getaway,’ she said, realising she’d spoken out loud.
That was the problem with living alone: she’d been talking to herself for years and didn’t always realise when she did it in public.
Was that the sign of a problem? Possibly.
She clamped her lips shut, shook the thought away and plastered on a smile.
This was a momentous occasion, and it was one that she planned to enjoy.
With the keys grasped in one hand, she stepped off the safety of the pavement and onto the deck.
The boat rocked with her and she let out a little squeal: a mix of pure joy and excitement.
Yanking the heavy suitcase across the gap, she almost lost it between the boat and the bank, but managed to lug it across in time. ‘Phew!’
She heard a low grumble from the boat next to her, called The Rembrandt , and peered around but couldn’t see anyone.
All she saw was a net curtain flying back into place.
It would have been nice if they’d popped out and said hello.
She gave them a moment, and when they still didn’t, she decided to do it herself.
There was no time like the present, and so, she left her case, and hopped back onto the pavement and around onto her neighbour’s boat.
This boat was in much better condition than her own with shining, well-varnished wood and paint pots dotted around. She even spied a dog bed outside. She loved dogs and being a pet owner was always the sign of a nice person, wasn’t it?
She knocked and waited for the curtain twitcher to open up but they didn’t. She knocked again.
‘Hello! I just popped over to introduce myself.’
A dog barked from inside, and it was told gruffly to be quiet, so there was definitely someone in there.