Maryam could not quite pinpoint when love turned to loathing. She just couldn’t get her hands warm however close she held them to the small wood burner in the canal boat. Her stomach growled, her skin felt dull and was turning an odd shade of yellow. Nothing to do with her diet of bread, cheese and beer…

Maryam’s income from peripatetic English teaching and occasion au pair gigs seemed to disappear on wood, tram fares and hot chocolates consumed slowly in warm cafes. And the odd bit of hash to warm her lungs.