‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘To the waterfall, stupid.’

‘All right, I was only asking.’ Why did his brother have to be so mean all the time? It was no fun with him around; he spoiled everything.

They emerged from the woods and walked down a long, grassy slope. It was quiet here – the village was far behind, and the only sound was the occasional bleating of the sheep on the side of the valley above them.

‘We can cut across here,’ Gary said, pointing towards the broad expanse of reeds and grassy hummocks that stretched out to their left.

Rob hesitated. The ground looked marshy, and he didn’t want to get muddy.

‘Can’t we go round by the path?’ he suggested.

‘What’s the matter?’ Gary sneered at him. ‘Scared? Your shoes are already messed up, and this way’s quicker.’

‘I’m not scared!’

‘Prove it then.’

Gary turned his back and walked down into the reeds. Frowning, Rob followed him. The ground felt soft at the foot of the slope but he hurried on, determined to keep up. He wasn’t scared of anything. Following Gary, he kept his eyes on where he was treading, trying to avoid getting any wetter than he already was. The long tangled grasses were thicker now, hiding the muddy ground completely, and dark water bubbled up between the mounds as his shoes pressed them down.

They were almost halfway across when Gary stumbled and swore. Rob looked up to see his brother, some twenty yards ahead of him, shaking his head in annoyance.

‘Aw, sod it!’ He turned to glance back at Rob. ‘I’ve stepped in a hole or something. The water’s gone right up over my knee.’

‘Ha!’ Rob called over to him. ‘Who’s got wet shoes now?’

‘Shut your face.’

Rob carefully picked his way forward, moving round the side of a large hummock. The ground suddenly felt very strange beneath his feet and as he paused he could feel it moving under him, as though he was walking on a giant trampoline.

‘Rob, come here.’

‘In a minute.’ The moving ground didn’t feel right at all.

‘Come here right now and help pull me out.’

Slowly, he crept forward, placing his feet carefully on the squelching reed bed. He could see Gary clearly now, just a few yards in front of him, bent as though in a crouching position, one leg buried to the thigh in the grass. There was water all around him.

‘Blimey, you’re soaked!’ Rob said, steadying himself on a mossy tuft of reeds.

‘Of course I’m soaked,’ Gary said. ‘You’re such an idiot, Robbie. Now get over here and help me.’

Rob paused.

‘What are you waiting for?’ his brother snapped. ‘Get over here now!’

He looked funny, bent over like that, water swirling up around his leg. He ought to be polite if he wanted help. Maybe even say sorry for being so horrible . . .

‘Rob!’

He looked different now, sort of worried and angry at the same time. And he’d said Rob not Robbie . . .

‘You’re nasty to me, Gary.’ He watched his brother staring up at him uncertainly. ‘Maybe you should say sorry to me . . . if you want me to help you.’

There. He’d said it. His brother might rub his face in the mud later on, but at least he’d said it.

‘Say sorry? To you?!’ Gary’s face went red and he started to say something, then tried to lunge at Rob. There was a loud bubbling as his trapped leg dragged him down and he fell sideways with a dull splash. Water sluiced around him as the ground sagged and he began to struggle, trying to get to his feet.

‘Shit! Oh shit!’ His arms slid into the water as he tried to push himself up and the floating grass gave way under his hands. ‘Help me, Rob, help me!’

And suddenly it wasn’t funny any more. Rob looked around desperately, but there was nothing to hold on to except for the reeds. Grasping a clump tightly, he leaned forward and stretched out his hand towards his floundering brother.

There was a strange sensation in his tummy, like an icy knot of excitement, as he reached out. It was an amazing feeling, to suddenly be so important. Gary was totally dependent on him at this moment, totally in his power. It felt so good . . .

And then, as he stared at his brother, he withdrew his hand a little.

‘Say sorry, Gary.’

‘What?!’

‘Say sorry.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry, whatever you bloody want,’ Gary yelled, arching his body to keep his face out of the water. ‘Now give me your fucking hand.’

He didn’t mean it.

Rob looked down on his tormentor thrashing around in the water, both legs now snared below the tangle of reeds.

He would never mean it.

Rob leaned back to the safety of the large clump of reeds and closed his eyes.

‘Please! I can’t get my legs out!’ Gary was begging now, but he’d be nasty again soon enough. ‘You’ve got to help me, Rob!’

He could get himself out.

Turning away, Rob pulled himself up and edged his way back towards the firmer ground. Behind him, he could hear Gary swearing and yelling, but with every carefully placed footstep, the noise grew a little less. He bit his lip, concentrated on where he was walking, trying to push everything else out of his mind.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasn’t doing anything at all.

And then the noise behind him changed to a strange half-screaming, half-sobbing sound. It pierced him, making him pause and look over his shoulder, but the reeds hid Gary from view.

And then it stopped.

An eerie peace fell across the valley, and the only sound was the mournful sigh of the wind. For several long minutes he stood alone, listening, until a cold trembling gripped his body, forcing him to move. Turning away from the marsh, he started back towards the village.

52

Wednesday, 19 September

Stephen Jennings looked up from his monitor and watched the clock hands as they traced the last long minutes to lunchtime. It had been a dull morning, but even from his cubicle – tucked away at the very back of the office – he could see that the weather had changed and the sun had come out. Yawning, he pushed a hand through his short, sandy hair and got slowly to his feet. Reaching for the blue anorak draped over the back of his chair, he hesitated, then changed his mind. He wouldn’t need it today.

Downstairs, the reassuring rumble of the city greeted him as he pushed aside the heavy glass door and wandered down the steps onto Throgmorton Street. It was already getting busy with other office workers breaking for an early lunch, and he quickened his pace. He saw so little sunlight at his desk that he was determined to get a place by the window today.

Casa Mia was quite full, but in the end he was lucky. Finding a table where he could sit in the sun, he reserved it by folding his jacket over the chair and went to the counter to order his usual sandwich and drink.

When he returned to the table, there was a padded brown envelope sitting on it.

Frowning, he looked around, trying to identify who might have left it there, but he couldn’t see anyone. Taking his seat, he felt a flush of annoyance – this was his table, and he didn’t want to share it with anyone else.

Several minutes passed and people bustled all around, but still nobody came, nobody joined him. Curious now, he took another bite of his sandwich and casually lifted the envelope, feeling its weight in his hand. There was something inside – not too heavy, but he suddenly thought about all the terrorism warnings – what if it was a bomb?

Growing alarmed, he scraped his chair backwards, ready to stand up and move away from the sinister package, when he noticed the photograph.

It had been under the envelope, lying on the table, and when his eyes fell on it his worried expression turned to one of puzzlement.

The photograph was of him.

It was small and blurry, like one of those Polaroid snaps that developed instantly inside the camera, but it was definitely him. There he was, walking along the road, wearing his blue anorak and his new grey trousers . . .