62

4 September, ten years earlier

TYE HAMMOND IS COMING DOWN FROM A HIGH AND, WHEN that happens, he likes to sit on deck and watch the lights bounce across the river. Somehow, they always manage to soothe him, to make the transition from bliss to the pressing crush of real life a bit more bearable.

As he climbs the steps of the houseboat, he thinks perhaps he hears someone calling out his name. When he reaches the cockpit the boat rocks against its mooring. He isn’t alone on deck.

‘What’s up?’ he asks the fair-haired girl at the port stern. Her back is to him, she’s clutching the guardrail. Her head twitches round, then back again, too fast to make eye contact.

‘The bow rope’s been cut,’ she calls. ‘This one’s loose too. I can’t catch hold of it.’

It takes a second for the words to sink in. Then Tye sees that the bow of the boat has swung away from its mooring. The current has caught hold of it and is pointing it directly downstream. Only the rope at the stern is keeping them against the bank now. Unsteady on his feet, he stumbles over to where Cathy is still reaching out for the cleat the boat had been tied up to.

Tye is taller than Cathy. He throws himself against the rail and leans over. His fingers brush the cold steel for a split second before the boat drifts too far away. The rope is still wrapped around the cleat but not tied. It’s slipping, only the friction of wet rope against steel is preventing the boat from spinning away at speed. He has to leap to the bank. Cathy can throw him the rope and he can catch the boat before the momentum gets too strong. He straddles the rail just as Cathy grasps hold of his leg.

‘It’s too far,’ she says. ‘You’ll go in.’

She’s right. Already they’re two metres away, three. But they have to go in. There’s no engine on the boat, no way of steering or stopping it. They cannot be loose in the river, at night, without any means of controlling the boat.

‘We have to jump,’ he says, taking hold of her arm. ‘We’re still close enough to swim.’

Cathy’s eyes are wide and pale with fear. ‘The others,’ she says, looking down towards the cabin. ‘Jen and Al are asleep. There’s four people down below.’

‘I’ll get them,’ he says. ‘You jump.’

Tye turns his back on Cathy and heads for the hatch. Four people. He’d thought five. Jen and Al, Rob and Kit, and that new girl who pitched up a day or so ago. That made five, seven with him and Cathy. But Cathy thinks four and she’s never wrong. He hears Cathy cry out behind him and spins round for a second to see her striding towards the bow. ‘We’re on fire,’ she calls. ‘The boat’s on fire.’

The explosion throws him high into the air, burning into his skin, sucking all the air from his body. When he hits the river, it feels like a relief.