Dad’s eyes flicked open, pale slits against his blackening face. James slid down and lifted his father by the armpits.

‘Jamie, I thought you were gone.’

‘We’re both gone unless we get off this boat.’

Dad heaved himself up against James’s arms while heat belted their flesh. He wrapped his father tightly in both arms and hoisted him upwards. They’d reached the top of the steps just as the boat rocked again.

James was toppled to one side and grabbed the wheel to prevent himself from hitting it with his face. Dad got thrown towards Mr Jones and they both landed in a mess in the tinnie, sending it away from the yacht until a cruel jolt jerked it back, tossing the agent head first into the water with a cloud of maps landing on the surface around him.

James worked the rope free of the ladder and the little boat drifted away. He waited until he was sure it was clear of the yacht. Dad got himself upright at the prow, bloodied and burned, and started screaming for his son to jump.

The big eruption rivalled the sun for one brilliant moment, cleaving the Home Free in half just as James dived off.

He kicked his way underwater, sensing pulsations of light behind while he descended beyond the heat. Staying below for as long as he could, he levelled himself with a few broad strokes of his arms.

Gazing into the infinite gloom, James wasn’t cold. Suspended until the pressure started to work on his lungs, he felt a sensation deeper than the embrace of the water. Now that everything had been said, it was coursing through every limb and digit and he grew desperate to surface and turn his back on silence forever.

He glanced above and saw the underbelly of the dinghy that held his father, the broad shapes of the maps starting to submerge around it, and the two sections of the yacht drifting apart into the shadows; then James put his swimmer’s shoulders into the work of reaching the flailing form of Mr Jones.

Epilogue 2005

EPILOGUE
2005

James opened his eyes and saw the gap in the floral curtains. A strip of blue sky and distant voices coming from along the hallway told him that he must have slept late. Someone, probably Aunty Doris, had placed a vase of daffodils on the table by the antique wardrobe. The dappled light from the French doors made the colours dance.

He blinked to shift the crust in his eyes, and when he moved his hand to rub it away, he felt the sting of burns on his fingers and face. One shoulder and one ear were very sore, but it was better if he lay with his head to the side and didn’t move his arm.

Sleep had been the best escape from yesterday’s events.