Author's note: Sorry for the delay... life!

"It'll be fun."

Barbara scowled at Tommy then looked back at the sleek flame-red kayak. "Don't blame me if we drown."

Tommy tried to gauge if she was genuinely scared or just being Barbara. "It's a good way to build up your arms and back, and it will be fun."

"So you say."

She was posturing, he decided. There was a hint of excitement in her eyes. "I do."

"The Thames is fascinating from the river, Ms Havers." Bruce, whose red legging were ridiculously tight and left nothing to the imagination, was smiling encouragingly at Barbara. Too encouragingly. Tommy felt a surge of protective jealousy, so put his arm around her shoulder.

"How far do we go?" Barbara asked Bruce.

"Greenwich. Usually, my tours end at Tower Bridge but being a holiday there's less river traffic so we can go further. Just come through to the shed and meet the other couples and grab a coffee, then we'll kit you out in your life vests and do some safety training."

Bruce stripped off his jacket revealing a singlet advertising his company which was stretched tight by muscles that would not have been out of place in a bodybuilder contest. Tommy hugged Barbara a little closer. She looked up at him seemingly aware that he was feeling insecure. She wrinkled her nose in the direction of Bruce's back and gave Tommy the most wonderfully loving grin. Every cell in his body ached to kiss her.

Three other couples were waiting in the shed, all sipping hot drinks. After shaking hands and exchanging greetings, Tommy thought Barbara seemed to relax. Sven and Erika, a young couple from Sweden looked bronzed and fit, but Bill and Jennifer, the couple from Manchester were overweight and in their sixties. They were wedged into a corner while a young couple with strong Californian accents relayed the adventures of their visit to the Sex Museum in Amsterdam. "And then Trey put his hand over my eyes," the slim but overly botoxed woman said.

"I'm not a prude. I mean I went to college in New York, you know. But there was no way Hay-lee was going to look at some of those... objects."

To Tommy, Trey looked anything but a worldly wise traveller. Tight running shorts combined with a Go Pro strapped to a terry-towelling headband that tamed his wild hair reminded him of John McEnroe.

Tommy stepped in and shook their hands and introduced Barbara. Bill gripped him as if he was a lifebuoy. "I am so pleased to meet you, Tommy. Are you from London?"

"Originally, from Cornwall, but yes, I have lived here for many years now." Trey yawned and walked away.

"Okay, team," Bruce called out. "Come over here for a minute. Everyone got a paddle? Right. Put your paddles on your head. Now reach up and grab them just wider than your shoulders. That's a comfortable paddle hold." Bruce continued his briefing before decking them out in blue waterproof jackets and red life preservers.

Preliminaries finished, they carried their paddles to their boats. Tommy and Barbara were assigned to a sleek red double kayak with a unicorn made from the Union Jack emblazoned on the bow. Underneath was the apophthegm, may your dreams come true, which was exactly what Tommy intended to make happen.

"Men in the back, women in the front is generally best."

"Oh man, then my video will only be the back of her head," Trey complained, "she'll spoil my shot."

Tommy looked at Barbara who rolled her eyes and whispered, "I hope he doesn't throw a tantie."

"Or abuse the umpire. Code violation Mr McEnroe."

Barbara laughed and nudged him in the ribs. "Shhh!"

"Most of the view is on the banks, left or right," Bruce told Trey.

Haylee rubbed her boyfriend's arm. "It's fine hon-nee, I'll sit up back."

Seating arranged, they started to climb in. Bruce was happy to stand thigh-high in the water while he held the kayaks steady. The Swedes looked like old hands, but Bill and Jennifer's kayak wobbled like jelly, threatening to capsize.

Tommy felt another unreasonable pang of irritation when Bruce held Barbara's hand to help her settle into the boat. Tommy thumped down into the kayak and slid his long legs into the slot. "Thank you," he said, dismissing Bruce. "Are you comfortable, Barbara?"

When she turned around to reply, the kayak teetered ominously. Tommy gripped the wharf to steady them. Barbara laughed. "Seems I'm always rocking the boat."

Tommy had lost sight of Bruce, but he reappeared in a single yellow kayak. "Follow me. I will circle around to make sure you are all okay, then point out the sights."

Barbara began to paddle, and Tommy matched her stroke making sure that their paddles did not clash. They moved past the motley collection of houseboats moored on the north bank in front of the ugly brown brick apartments that Tommy thought blighted Chelsea. "Sylvia Pankhurst lived in one of those terraces over there," Tommy said, pointing his paddle. "And a bit further down was Turner, the landscape painter, and Steer, and John Tweed who sculpted the statue of Wellington on his horse in St Paul's."

"Are you trying to do Bruce out of a job?"

"No. Just... trying to impress you."

Barbara stopped paddling and swivelled to face him, this time without threatening to roll the kayak. "You've always impressed me."

Tommy could not help but smile at her compliment. "So will I continue my commentary?"

Barbara turned back to the front but nodded. As they paddled under the cast-iron arches of Battersea Bridge the temperature and light dropped. The buzz of the city faded, replaced by the kerthump, kerthump of the heavier lorries and buses crossing above.

"What? No history of the bridge?" Barbara said to him.

"This one was designed by Joseph Bazalgette and built in 1890. The piers are granite, of course, and the design is flawed because it is too narrow for modern traffic, so is a slow bridge to cross, but can't be widened because it is under a historic protection order."

"Steer out into the river," Bruce called out, "we have to go around the pier."

Ahead, running parallel to the river, houseboats lined either side of a long wharf. On the far bank, the glass curves of the modern complex of offices and apartments refracted the early morning yellow and orange across the river. They paddled steadily under Albert Bridge's pink and blue span. The city was quieter here, and Tommy heard larks over the gentle slosh of their paddles.

Even through the jacket and life vest, Tommy could see the outline of Barbara's back. Her shoulders were broader than he had noticed and her neck curved slowly out to her shoulders. She was not angular. Helen and Deborah had both been much sharper in stature. Tommy extrapolated that Barbara would also be curvier over her hips. Her bike pants had compressed her, and his over-sized shirt had hidden the details, but as he continued to watch her, his need to know grew more urgent.

"Hey!"

Tommy refocussed his eyes. "What?"

"You stopped paddling."

He grinned at her. "Did I? Sorry."

"No, you're not. If this is some silly thing about getting me fitter by having to drag your weight through the water you can forget it. I'm not paddling you all the way to Greenwich, Hiawatha. I'm not your slave."

"Minnehaha was not his slave. She was his lover."

"Yeah, well in the movie, he paddled too."

"It was a poem originally."

"I'll bet he paddles in the poem too."

"Well, yes..."

"The defence rests."

Tommy laughed, then splashed her with his paddle as he dug his blade into the green water. Barbara flipped her paddle back and soaked him. Cold dribbled down inside his jacket. "Why you!"

Barbara turned around. A feeling of warmth enveloped him. With the morning light behind her, her hair was the colour of the sun setting over the cove at Howenstowe. Her eyes sparkled like the tops of the waves, and her smile was as broad and white as the beach. It seemed a nostalgic, foolishly romantic comparison that his English master would have labelled purple prose, but to him it was real. Barbara was his past and his future. She completed his life. She was the missing piece he had searched for; the one person who made him happy. "I love you, Barbara."

"You what?"

Tommy could not stop staring at her. He had known, of course he had known, but at that moment his intellect, his body and his spirit were aligned for the first time. This was real. This was how love felt. Everything before had been a conspiracy by one of those three to fool him. This time he wasn't fooled. "I love you. I have hidden that for such a long time, but I do. I know I'm not an easy man to love, but..."

"Come on, Tommy, Barbara," Bruce said as he paddled up beside them. "You're falling behind already."

Barbara's face was red. Tommy ached to know what she was going to say, but Bruce was paddling beside them, urging them on and talking about the features of Battersea Park on the south bank before turning his attention to the north. "And that, of course, is Royal Chelsea Hospital, home of the Chelsea Pensioners. Magnificent buildings. It was founded by Charles the Second in 1682. Wren designed the Chapel and Great Hall. Did you know Margaret Thatcher is interred there? Righto, looks like Bill and Jennifer are drifting into the boating channel. Better go. Try and keep up please."

Bruce stroked out to rescue the wayward kayak. Barbara was facing the front and paddling hard. Tommy took a deep breath. "Did I offend you? I... I've been trying to tell you, but it just... tumbled out."

"I'm not offended."

"But... you don't feel the same way."

"Can we not discuss this by shouting it out across the river?" Barbara's anger was unmistakable.

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted, but please Tommy, can we talk about this somewhere more private?"

"Of course." He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but he saw her pause mid-stroke.

"Don't sulk."

"I'm not sulking."

"Good, because I didn't say I didn't love you."

His mood brightened instantly. "So you do?"

"Tommy!"

"Just put me out of my misery, Barbara."

"Yes, but..." Her voiced trailed away leaving something important unsaid.

"Buts can be talked through."

"Yes, you talk through your butt a lot I've noticed."

"Havers!"

They both began to laugh.