A cabin cruiser passes us by, it keeps to the right but is moving fast and the waves pick up. We dip up and down, I 130pull the steering wheel hard to one side and open my mouth to tell Olea to hold on tight, but I’m too late. Olea has been lying with her upper body hanging over the edge of the boat and her legs straight out behind her. She flips over the side as the boat is thrown up into the air and tumbles into the water, I call out, can’t hear the sound of my own shout. I see her head in the water, her arms, I can’t stop the boat, all of a sudden I can’t remember what you’re supposed to do in a situation like this, is there a button to push, some kind of brake somewhere, what are you supposed to do, should I jump out to swim to her, I fumble and try reversing the boat, but I’ve forgotten how to do that too, my hands are shaking, my mind turns white and vacant and cold, I can hear only the drone of the engine as the boat pushes me onwards, it’s going too fast, moving further and further away from her. Eventually I manage to swing it around in a curve and drive back. I can’t see her at first, the fjord is endlessly vast and every wave looks the same, the same colour, the same shape, I can’t see her, the sobs chafe at the inside of my ribcage, this isn’t happening, it’s not happening, then I see her head and her arms as she struggles in the water, not as far away as I’d previously thought. I put the engine into neutral and lie on my stomach, I grab the collar of her life vest and she screams and flails so strongly that I lose my grip, she grabs my arm with both hands and clings on tight. She’s surprisingly heavy as I haul her over the side of the boat. Her clothes are drenched, she’s lost a shoe and her knee is bleeding, she must have scraped it on something. I kneel down beside her, her mouth is twisted open in a silent 131scream, then the sound comes. She howls a loud and deep and terrible howl, clings to me as I hug her tight.

‘Shall we do a little fishing and see if that makes you feel any better?’ I ask her, I’m hot with shame.

‘I want to go home,’ Olea cries.

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Let’s go back.’