They never spoke of the morning at the dam again, but Derek didn’t forget it. He longed for the day that Michelle would apologise for her behaviour and thank him for coming to her rescue. She might’ve known the boys, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t harm her. He had saved her and he would do the same again.

Now, as he limped to the cabin, his boots similarly sodden, Derek thought about how calculated his response to Diane had been earlier, versus the way he’d instinctively plunged into the dam to rescue Michelle from the boys. He missed her. If Michelle had needed rescuing from the river, he wouldn’t have hesitated. And, if she’d been watching from the riverside, he’d no doubt have been at Diane’s side much faster. He wished Michelle hadn’t had to cancel.

If anyone was surprised to find that neither Clare and Faye nor their supplies had made it to Grootkloof Cabin, they didn’t mention it. Indeed, the group had been largely silent since leaving the river. Their examination of the Grootkloof site was perfunctory. Unlike the previous day, when they’d taken their time to admire and discuss Heuningbos Hut and its pretty location, the hikers were subdued as they walked up the stairs into the lapa, which was more or less a replica of the one at Heuningbos. Bev and Helen checked the cabin and bathroom. There were plenty of beds and the gas to heat the water was connected. They’d be okay.

Sheets of rain obscured the view like milky waves across a disconnected television screen. Sluicing every surface it met, the shower was clearly not a passing squall and looked set to continue for hours. Although the temperature hadn’t yet dropped by much, Derek was pleased he’d told his friends to include space blankets in their daypacks. They’d need them overnight.

Bruce, who’d carried Diane’s pack and stayed at her side since the river crossing, lit a fire. The hikers dug into their bags, using what they could to towel themselves off. They unpacked food they hadn’t had time to eat yet and unwrapped it, laying sandwiches, fruit, nuts, crackers, cheese and energy bars across the table in something of a mishmash buffet to share. Derek watched as his friends ate, no one with much gusto. He had no appetite at all.

Bev handed him two packs of tablets. One contained painkillers and the other, anti-inflammatories. He hobbled across the room, sat on a bench against the wall and swallowed another one of each with a slug of whiskey—not the first since they’d arrived at camp—from his hip flask.