‘Right,’ I say, returning to the living room. ‘Let’s get those wet clothes off.’

He folds his arms across his chest as I try to wrestle the sodden joggers from his legs. Once he is undressed I wrap the towel round him, tuck the flannel in my pocket and lift him into my arms.

‘Okay,’ I say, my back straining under the weight of his rigid body. ‘Let’s go and play the splish-splash game.’

I open the front door. Thankfully, the sun is out, though the air is chilly. I pull Joe towards my chest as I head for the lake. Mark would go mad if he knew what I was about to do. But I can’t see an alternative.

‘No,’ shouts Joe as we reach the water’s edge. ‘Want to go home. It’s cold.’

I look at the water. Just a few days ago I was sitting in a warm house planning Christmas. Now I’m contemplating plunging my child into a freezing lake in the middle of winter.

I dip my hands in the water. It’s icy cold. There’s no way I can put Joe in there. So instead I take the flannel, soak it in the water then squeeze it tight.

‘Right, let’s get you clean,’ I say, holding Joe close to me and removing his towel. ‘I wonder if Max saw a lake when he visited the wild things. Can you remember?’

Joe doesn’t answer, though he screws his face up and lashes out with his fists as I wipe his body with the flannel.

‘There. All done,’ I say, wrapping the towel back round him. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

I stoop to pick him up and, as our eyes meet, I see fear in his eyes. But it’s not the water my little boy seems to be scared of. It’s me.

8

Soldier Number 1

Rowan Isle House, September 2003

I feel bad because I haven’t written in this journal for such a long time, though the truth is I haven’t felt like there was much to report and what’s the point of a journal if it’s full of boring stuff. But when I saw it on my shelf this morning I decided it was time to start writing again. Maybe if I do that then the exciting stuff will start to happen.

Sarge hasn’t given me any missions to carry out for months, not since the last one. Instead I’ve been carrying the bulk of the housework which I don’t really mind but can get rather tedious. I try not to think about what happened on the lake because when I do my heart goes all shaky. Sometimes I have nightmares that I’m under the water and Sarge is holding me down. But in the nightmares he doesn’t pull me out, he lets me sink and I go down, down to the very bottom of the lake where everything is black. I wake up feeling all sweaty and breathless but I never tell Sarge about the dreams. I just get up and get on with things because that’s what a good soldier does.