‘You said some students were taking bets about who’d be next?’

He shakes his head and thumbs towards Redcliffe Bridge. ‘I should be going.’

She watches him take off along the quay, his tall frame gradually diminishing.

A goose lands with a loud splash not far from the boat.

‘It’s me, isn’t it?’ Nevis says out loud, to no one in particular. ‘They think I’m next.’

Chapter 44

Honor

The drive to Tewkesbury to see Gary Bond takes them through pretty countryside, newly spring minted, the sky the pale blue of birds’ eggs. Honor is at the wheel, Alex in the passenger seat beside her. I miss the country, Honor thinks, as they pass the lime green smudge of hawthorn hedges on either side. Perhaps when this is all over I could take a trip through the navigations and canals of the Midlands as far as Kendal and the Lakes, picking up work refurbing boats along the way. Nevis could visit. Alex might even come. We could take our time. There would be no more hiding, no more secrets. We would keep moving and leave the past behind.

Google Maps leads them to a new-build house, half-way down a cul-de-sac in an estate of similar new-builds on the outskirts of Tewkesbury. Legoland, her dad used to call these places. ‘Don’t expect visits from your mum and me if you end up in Legoland,’ he’d say. Honor didn’t end up in Legoland but they never visited anyway.

A man in his forties answers the door. Red-haired with weathered skin and fragile, searching eyes. Hams for hands. Honor introduces herself and Alex and, conscious of the delicacy of the situation, explains why they’ve come, avoiding any direct mention of Reynolds or the suicides.

As Gary listens his expression hardens, then softens once more. Finally, in a voice hinting at relief, he says, ‘I wasn’t surprised when Anne called. Not really. I knew someone would come eventually.’

He shows them to a cosy living room where, on a cushion by the sofa, a large dog lies gently snoring.

‘Don’t worry about Hector the Protector,’ Gary says, showing Honor to the sofa. ‘We went on an eight-mile walk earlier. He won’t be giving anyone any trouble for a while.’

He offers up an uncertain smile, suggesting tea, and leaves the room to make it. When he returns, they make small talk for a while about the journey, the house, the floods of a decade ago before moving on to the events at Midland University.

‘It’s difficult to talk about, even now,’ Gary says. ‘Suicide is, well, it’s not something we’re very good at dealing with, is it?’

‘We’re very grateful,’ Honor says. ‘And no, we’re not.’ She has her own difficult stories but this is not the time for those.