Walking back to the shed through the trees, he avoided the wettest parts of the ground, which lay exposed and unpaved just as they had a hundred years ago. Patches of gravel had been laid, but not on the shortcut that he took. He looked south and whistled to himself, stopping and smiling as the clouds parted over Cat Bells. It was probably the most iconic of the spines around here, and when the sun shone, there was nowhere more breath-taking. He made out a snaking stream of walkers trudging up to the summit, their bright coats looking like a line of tacks on a map. It was the busiest Wainwright in the whole National Park.

When he opened the shed door, his heart sank. The smell had worsened. He sighed and set the ladder up, climbing onto the vessel and pulling back the tarpaulin. She looked exquisite. He hopped over the edge and his stomach turned over. Something had definitely died up here and it was creating an eye-watering stench.

He bent down and peered under the seats, which were warm and reminiscent of boatyards of long ago, when steam and beam was the only way to travel. He covered his mouth: nothing. Following his nose, he walked back to the cabin. Twenty-five of the launch’s seats were under cover, an essential arrangement in the Lake District. On rainy days, scuffles for shelter sometimes caused moments of rage between passengers. The smell was definitely worse back here and he knelt down again. Nothing. He stood up, puzzled, and walked towards the bridge, covering his mouth again as he neared the control panel. Another tarp covered the helm.

‘Bloody hell!’ This was no bird, he thought. He wondered if a dog had crawled in here to die. The stench was reminiscent of a dead sheep on the fells, covered in maggots and sweet with rot. His hand shook and he felt foolish for being so apprehensive. He’d seen dead animals all his life. It was unpleasant, that was all.

He pulled back the tarp.

An adrenalin rush took hold of his body. He ran to the ladder, leaping onto it before his brain could even process what he’d seen. He stumbled on the slippery rungs and jumped from halfway to the gravel below. His legs shook and he retched as he left the shed and ran to the water’s edge to be sick.

Slowly his senses returned to him, and he took his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled 999.

Chapter 3