‘Oh my God,’ Meredith said, opening the car door so fast she caught Trevor’s elbow on the edge of the door. ‘Sorry,’ she said automatically, running over to the edge of the pontoon to look again at the space. ‘Fucking hell. Gemma! I knew something was wrong. I’ve been trying to ring him but it just goes to voicemail. He wouldn’t go anywhere – I mean, not without telling me. Shit, Trevor, something’s happened to him, I know it has. When did you last see his boat?’

Trevor gripped her shoulders gently, kindly, trying to get her to make eye contact. Gemma rushed over too, her brow creased with concern.

‘Shhh,’ Trevor soothed, as if she was a teething toddler. ‘Don’t panic, sweetie. Stay calm. It could be nothing. Someone could’ve undone his moorings. You know kids were doing that last summer, the little bastards…’

‘But why isn’t he answering his phone?’ Meredith wailed, hyperventilating, clutching Trevor. It seemed only minutes since the last time she was losing the plot, Andrea’s body bobbing against the pontoon, her hair in black ribbons swirling around her head … Meredith tried to shake off the horrific mental image of Pete’s bloated corpse in the same place.

‘I’ll call it in,’ Gemma said, pulling out her phone and stepping a short distance away.

Footsteps rang out on the iron stairs, and Johnny’s head appeared. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Pete?’

Meredith was shaking so much that she thought her legs were about to give way. ‘Not Pete. Oh God, not Pete. Help, please, we have to find him…’ she beseeched.

Trevor folded her into a claustrophobic and unwelcome hug, which she fought her way out of.

‘Come on board with us,’ Johnny said, exchanging worried looks with his partner. ‘In fact, stay here today, in case there’s any news. We’ll look after you.’

They walked her slowly down the stairs, flanking her as if they were prison guards taking her to the gallows, Meredith thought, a flash of her zombie nightmare coming back to her. She had to grasp the handrail tightly on both sides, worried that her knees were about to buckle.

They’d just managed to persuade Meredith to sit down in the galley, and Trevor had put the kettle on, when Gemma climbed on board, her face grave. Meredith jumped straight back up.

‘Is he dead? Please don’t tell me he’s dead.’ She was almost howling out the words.

Gemma came over to her and put a hand on her arm. ‘We have no reports of that,’ she said gently. ‘But his boat was reported this morning, found drifting about ten miles downstream. Nobody on board. We’ll launch an investigation immediately.’

45

Pete