The Map of Us: The most uplifting and unmissable feel good romance of 2018!. Jules Preston

the ground, and his toenails were talking to him. He had a fever. He was sweating. He was ice cold. He wasn’t drinking enough water. He couldn’t keep it down. He was hallucinating.

      The nearest doctor was 80 miles away upriver. The journey would take six days. His guide assured him that the fever would break in 48 hours. He had seen it before. If it did not break in 48 hours, he would probably be dead. Either way, they weren’t getting in the boat and traveling upriver to get a second opinion.

      Jack was drifting in and out of consciousness. He did not mind. He had seen a Hyacinth Macaw in the wild. It had taken almost a week to reach the palm swamps on the edge of a border that had no real edges, only endless trees and muddy rivers.

      Jack had seen the lurid blue of the Indigo Bunting, the pale blue of the Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher and the elegant blue of the Purple Martin. The Hyacinth Macaw was another blue again. He was glad that he had traveled so far to see it. He would never forget.

      He fell asleep. All his dreams were blue.

       sand

       Not sure that the nose is right.

       Doesn’t look right.

       Looks wonky.

       Askew.

       Maybe it’s just the direction of the sun?

       Getting low now.

       Sunset at 8.26pm.

       Low sun.

       That’s all.

       That’s the problem.

       Yeah.

       It will look fine in the morning.

       Stop messing with the nose.

       You’ll make it worse.

       Move on.

       Still got the tail to do.

       Haven’t even started on the tail.

       Or the wings.

       Going to be tricky.

       Wrong sort of sand for wings.

       Should have thought of that.

       Why didn’t I think of that?

       Same thing last year.

       Wrong sort of sand for porcupine quills.

       Still got second place though.

       Don’t know how.

       Idiot.

       Sand sculpture of a porcupine?

       Idiot.

       What was I thinking?

       Maybe if I used the plaque scaler again?

       Add some more detail.

       Won’t notice it’s wonky.

       More scales.

       Good thinking.

       Useful having a dentist in the family.

       Odd bloke though.

       Wouldn’t want to go on a camping holiday with him.

       Get stuck in a tent.

       Man has a thing against sand.

       Odd bloke.

       Doesn’t know what he’s missing.

       Still looks wonky.

       Not the sun then.

       Bollocks.

       Taken too much off the nose.

       The nose is all wrong.

       Don’t think dragons have noses.

       Snouts?

       Muzzles?

       Doesn’t really matter.

       The nose is wrong.

       Should have done a bloody dolphin.

       Don’t be an idiot.

       Just do the nose right.

       Can’t.

       Not enough sand.

       Already taken too much off.

       Off the nose.

       Or the muzzle.

       Snout.

       Whatever it’s called.

       Have to start again.

       Bollocks.

       Idiot.

       Don’t have to start again.

       Just make the whole thing smaller.

       Done it before.

       What time is high tide?

       Should have done a bloody dolphin.

       Idiot.

       N

      Abby was standing just inside the school gates. She had pen on her uniform. Asha Jackson did it. Abby didn’t mind. Asha was her friend. They sat next to each other in class. Not all the time though. Sometimes she sat next to Francesca Drinkwater. She had long hair. Abby didn’t have long hair. She had short hair. It was easier for her mum.

      Abby was standing with a teacher. Abby didn’t know what the teacher’s name was. She was new. She wasn’t really a teacher. Not yet. She was something else. Abby didn’t know what.

      Abby was getting bored of waiting. Everyone else had gone home. It was just her and the teacher that wasn’t a teacher yet. Abby wanted to sit down. And something to drink.

      Another teacher came out and told them both to come back inside. She said it like she didn’t want Abby to hear, even though Abby was standing right there in front of her. She was called Mrs Whittle. She was the deputy headmistress.

      Abby’s mother wasn’t coming to collect her.

      Abby was six.

       boots

      At first Violet North sent her imaginary hero to sea, but it did not sit well with him. The blank expanse of blue water was not to his liking. The food was stale. His cabin was compact and stuffy. It was too near the engine room to sleep. The metal plates of the hull gathered condensation that seeped into his bunk. He shared the cabin with a fellow traveler who had bad dreams