Meredith gathered up the dirty plates and scraped the leftovers into the food bin. ‘So, did you ask her out? Even you must have noticed the way she was looking at you!’

Pete looked briefly self-conscious. ‘I think I did notice, yeah. I didn’t ask her out…’ He saw Meredith’s mouth open to protest and rushed on, ‘But she invited me over. Soon. So I will then.’

Meredith nodded, a tiny flash of pleasure crossing her face as she piled all the dishes next to the sink, and then she sank back into gloom. ‘Leave these, I’ll do them in the morning. I’m going to turn in. I need to try and sleep off all that wine you made me drink.’ She came over and hugged him. ‘Thanks for dinner, bro. Really helped take my mind off … things.’

Sadness scudded anew across her features, then she snapped herself back. ‘And excellent news about Andrea. So nice that something positive is happening in the middle of all this … shit.’

23

Pete

Pete slept soundly for the first five hours of that night, serenaded as always by the cheep and chatter of the sedge warbler that nested in the tree nearest the barge. He always slept so much better when Meredith was on board, it occurred to him as he dropped off. Perhaps it was because he could be sure she was safe.

Later, he wasn’t sure if it was the splash that had woken him, but he recalled that something had, because he’d opened his eyes and tried to figure out why he was suddenly no longer asleep. He told the police it must have been around 5.00 a.m., because the faintest peachy light had been coming through the thin curtains. All was silent, though. No splashing, not even the tiny, thin flip of a fish’s fin, or a duck’s feet paddling over the surface as it lifted off.

He’d gone back to sleep, closing his eyes against the encroaching tannin headache, until, at about 7.30 a.m., he was vaguely aware of hearing Meredith get up – she never was any good at sleeping in: the pump and flush of the chemical toilet, the click of the kettle and the bubble of the boil, mugs clashing as she reached one down for her tea. He remembered hoping that she wasn’t going to bring him one because he was nowhere near done with slumber – but then heard nothing.

Until the scream came, piercing his dream. He’d never heard Meredith scream before, but even before he’d sprung out of bed, he knew it was her. He was outside on the pontoon in his boxers before he was even properly aware of being awake, rushing towards his sister, who had collapsed to her knees in the cool morning air, issuing an unearthly banshee sound, incongruous in her Lycra and trainers.