It was Rory who started moving again in their absurd, almost comical descent of the steps and Thea was left sitting where she was. Burning tree, bobbing ghost balloons – lab rat in the maze. The only difference now was that they had widened the maze, made it so big she thought it was freedom, until she came upon the inevitable dead end and sharp jolt of electricity.

It was just a matter of time.

She kept going because at least down in the cove there would be more shelter from the wind.

She didn’t expect to see a boat waiting for them in the dark arch of the cove.

She expected Delores to have been lying, as she had lied about so many things before. She expected it to be somewhere else, somewhere further from the beach, somewhere more hidden; God she half expected Delores to be there waiting for her, her spike-heeled boots planted firmly on the slippery rock, her bright hair holding back the shadows.

So it was a huge surprise when she thumped down some more steps and the cove came into sight.

With a small, empty boat in it.

Chapter 62

The small boat was jauntily painted in blue and white, with a motor at the back and varnished wooden seats set into the sides.

Jaunty but no longer moored.

It had been at one time, but high waves, or faulty knot-tying, meant that now it had floated over to the other side of the cove and got itself stuck on a rock.

‘We could walk across …’ Rory offered.

This was not a pleasant sunbathing cove where couples would go to jump off the cliff edge into the clear waters below, shrieking happily. If they did, they would shriek only because, as they landed, the rocks would tear them apart. Instead, this cove was a shelf of slick rock interrupted at its deepest point by a cave, guarded by huge boulder teeth so jagged and steep there was no way they could climb over them.

They could see the boat but they couldn’t get to it.

Rory slithered to the edge and looked at the water that separated them from the bobbing boat.

‘We could swim it.’

Rory could, perhaps – if his heart didn’t seize up in the cold water.

‘I can’t swim.’

‘What?’ Rory gaped at her. ‘Everyone can swim! You just can’t swim very far. You can float, right?’

Her first ever swimming lesson had been when she was about six or seven. It had been centred on learning to float. She’d worn her little inflatable armbands and the rubbery swimming cap that snapped tightly on her forehead. Holding on to the edge of the pool, she’d kicked out her legs and let them float behind her, feeling that this swimming thing was going to go well … until she let go of the side as encouraged, and promptly sank. She’d never again got past the sinking stage.