As I stepped into the water I could see the white-faced child screaming in the rear seat, the water already up to her armpits. Trying to reach her, the mother floundered into the river, the skirt of her cotton dress floating into her face. Her husband seized her arms and pulled her onto the ramp. Already exhausted, he plunged into the water, face below the surface as he tried to disconnect the tow rope.

I gripped the left-side door pillar, trying to reach the girl, who held the ice cream over her head. Her shoulders were covered by the water, and she screamed at her mother, surrounded by loose tissues and aerosol containers, road maps and cigarette stubs that had risen from the ashtrays and glove pockets.

Before I could seize the child, the car began to tilt to one side, dragged back by the speedboat. Everyone was shouting as the water swilled over the roof, a white spiral of ice cream floating on the surface. Knocked from my feet, I found myself swimming beside the father as he fought his way to the speedboat. He released the metal catches on the cradle and the craft swung away across the stream, bumping into the hull of a passing cabin cruiser, whose crew stared at us from their sun deck, glasses of wine in hand.

Finding our footing, we pushed the car onto the stone ramp. The father pulled open the door, releasing the last of the water, only to find that the rear seat was empty. He plunged through the water beside the bank, slapping the waves with his hands as he searched for his daughter, but the car park attendant had found her lying on the floor below the steering wheel.

Cleo joined me as they laid her on the wet grass.

“Dear God—do you know any first aid?”

“No, but I think…” The cold river water streamed from my chest and legs. When the attendant lifted the child, her body hung from his hands like a dead rabbit, her eyes unfocused, her blue arms trailing across the grass. The sobbing mother smoothed the child’s hair, and the attendant began to move her arms rhythmically across her chest. Soon tired, he lowered his face to her blanched cheeks, trying to detect her breath, and then resumed his to-and-fro motion as if exercising a doll.

Stunned by the suddenness of the tragedy, Cleo was weeping into her hands. I held her head against my shoulder. Trying not to look at the child, I searched the Windsor road, hoping to see a passing ambulance. A coach loaded with Middle East tourists sped past, but too late it occurred to me that at least one doctor would have been among the party.