Without Rory’s arm there was nothing to cling to, just the water that ‘wanted to help you float, you just had to let it,’ according to her old instructor. But then she’d been in a calm, chlorine-scented leisure centre pool, not this twisting, churning, slamming water that didn’t want anything, and it certainly didn’t want to help.

Water closed over her head.

There was a horrible feeling of pressure, pushing up against her eyeballs, filling her ears, shoving fingers up her nose. A plunger had sucked itself over her face so tightly, she almost heard the pop. She breathed out.

For a second it was peaceful, dark and quiet, all sound muted to a gentle blur. A warmth came from inside her, such a beautifully delicious warmth that it made her want to curl up in it and close her eyes. She went limp.

So peaceful.

Warm like a burrow, like her mother’s living room with its joss sticks and hot tea and women talking.

Then it wasn’t.

She tried to take a breath in and suddenly she was sinking and choking and flailing and fighting all at once, the warmth swiped away and her heart hammering at the icy band across her chest as if it could crack. There wasn’t time to think about anything apart from breathing and moving. She had to move. She kicked and pushed herself upwards, her arms reaching for a surface she knew was there; she just had to find it. And she kept kicking, she kept moving, even though her lungs were bursting and soon her eyes would follow. She kicked and pushed and eventually her hand broke through into air.

Someone grabbed it.

She reared out of the sea, coughing and gasping, expecting any second to be snatched back under again. The cold dropped over her head like a frozen wet cloth and she felt arms under her armpits, dragging her, stopping her from sinking.

When she reached out, she felt smooth, varnished wood and she tried to cling to it, her throat beginning to burn as Rory pulled at her but her hands slipped on the polish and she felt the world tilt once more, the dark, waiting depths opening its mouth for her again …

Rory hauled her up.

Chapter 64

Thea was a burning tree.

Her lungs, chest and throat were on fire. She slithered onto the boat and lay where she’d collapsed, retching and coughing until she vomited sea water. It was only when she sat up a little and wiped at her mouth, pushing her hair away from her face, that she noticed Rory sprawled next to her. His chest heaved and water seeped from him.

This time, when she began to shake, she was certain that it would never stop. It came from her very core, some tuning fork within her that had been struck hard.

Rory staggered to his feet and the boat rocked violently.