From somewhere out there, in the dark, Verity thought she heard her own name. Instantly, her body was alert. She flexed her aching fingers, tried and failed to flex her toes. They were numb and gone. She sat up, and, as much as she could, leaned out into the chasm of mute darkness and shouted with all the fear and loneliness of the night.

No sound returned to her.

*

Jack’s face was white in the moonlight, lit up like a ghost. He was saying something Arthur didn’t want to hear. He wanted to block his ears, black over Jack’s bright moonface, blot him out. Shut him up. A scream from somewhere. Or the wind.

‘Art, look, before we get to her, I have to tell you. I should have told you about Vee, I didn’t realise you were—’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘You know, I don’t even think I wised up myself until tonight, not truly. I mean about her. See, I’ve been messing about, but I stopped it, tonight. It’s complicated, Art, I wish I could tell just how much. But that’s it. I’m not going—’

The moon clouded over, plunging them into darkness, and at the same moment a spring snapped in Arthur’s brain. Everything surged out. He gritted his teeth and ground them together. She hadn’t given herself to him, had she? Why should Jack get away with what he’d done? He was a traitor. Nothing Arthur had ever wanted was going to come true. Nothing. Nothing. He lunged forward, throwing Jack against the prow of the boat.

‘Shut up!’

He hit the hard bone of Jack’s head.

*

Arthur was thrust back to the other end of the boat. He lay there, panting. Feeling came back to his body. His hand was throbbing and wet. Slowly, he realised that the boat had come to a stop. Cold water washed over his feet. They had hit something.

From the other end of the boat, where the slumped figure of the American lay, he heard a groan.

‘Jack,’ he said, whispering tentatively, ‘can you believe it? The boat’s taking in water. Jack?’

He didn’t want to believe it. There was no way he could get into the floodwater. The boat was the only thing keeping him from certain death. He felt on the floor of the boat. Seawater lapped at his trouser legs. His hand twinged, his head throbbed. Out of the night came voices, distant, echoing.

‘We’ll have to swim. She can’t be far.’

Silence in the blackness.

The water was up to his knees. He was sitting in it. He was covered with freezing seawater, something slimy around his legs. The smell of seaweed was mixed with something rotten.

Arthur imagined Jack grinning, though he couldn’t see him. Why was he grinning?