Ellie nodded. It made sense. There were woodland walks in the grounds of the big house, but none of them went down to the shore, leaving space for the deer to roam.

‘OK.’ She looked at Ben, held his gaze. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

‘We have to.’

Ellie nodded.

35

The wind was freshening as they made their way past the breakwater into the firth. They’d run the engine out this far but now Ellie cut the power as Ben untied the main boom and hoisted the sail. It had to look like a normal sailing trip if anyone on shore or the bridge saw them. It made sense to do everything as if they didn’t have a dead body down below, that way no one would remember them, just another couple out on the waves, enjoying the freedom.

They tacked west, Ellie at the tiller, Ben scurrying up to the foredeck to fiddle with ropes and the smaller sails. The breeze had them scudding across the surface of the water in good time. There was no great swell in the waves, so the hull eased through the water with little resistance.

They headed into the middle of the firth, giving the new bridgeworks a wide berth. It was more risky sailing out here in the middle of the Forth, the main shipping channel up and down the river, but there were no large ships in sight.

As they got further out Ellie looked back the way they’d come. She lifted the binoculars from the seat and examined the coast. All the problems of everyday life back there, all the worries and stresses of the world left ashore, as they headed into open water. Who was she kidding? As if they were free of anything out here. You carry that baggage with you wherever you go and no amount of fresh air and sea spray changes that.

She swept the binoculars past the new bridge foundations. They were busy pouring concrete into the cofferdam. She’d read somewhere that the process took days, millions of tons of the stuff poured continuously. She imagined heaving Jack’s body into that, destroying the evidence forever, making him a permanent part of the new bridge. But it was a stupid idea, how could they get the body up the side of the cofferdam? There were security guards patrolling it and workmen on top, everyone paying close attention, obeying health and safety. No, what she and Ben were doing was the only way.

She dropped the binoculars and turned to him. He didn’t have his lifejacket on, and she realised that she didn’t either. She imagined the boom arm swinging round and catching him on the head, knocking him overboard. She locked the tiller, darted into the cabin and grabbed two lifejackets, turning away from Jack’s body on the floor. She ran back up and shouted to Ben, threw a lifejacket his way.

They made good time heading west. They stayed nearer to the south than the north bank, no point getting too close to the Rosyth naval base, they had tight security there.

There were hardly any other boats on the firth, and the ones that were out were a good distance away. People tended to sail under the bridges, sticking close to the icons, while the Porpoise was heading the other way, upstream towards solitude.

Ellie watched Ben work the sails and smiled. For a moment this felt like the old days. They were a man and a woman in love, working together towards a goal, getting on with their lives. Ben looked up, saw her face, smiled back.

After twenty minutes more sailing they were on their own. Ellie couldn’t see another craft anywhere. They were a long way past the workmen on the bridge, an equally long way from Rosyth on the opposite coast. The bridges looked like models from this distance. Ellie imagined Sam and Libby sitting in her living room right now, looking out the window. She had a flash of Logan jumping, the footage of him stepping into nothingness, 5.6 seconds of gravity.

Ben took in the main sail and tied the boom as Ellie locked the tiller. She scanned the horizon with the binoculars. A couple of sailing boats miles away, over near North Queensferry, but nothing else.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

‘Let’s do it,’ Ben said.

They went into the cabin and stood over Jack’s body.

Ellie picked up his hands, held them tight, as Ben lifted the legs and tucked the feet under his armpits.

‘After three,’ Ellie said. ‘One, two, three.’

He was heavier than she expected. Not a big man, but solid enough. Their first heave barely lifted him off the ground. Ellie staggered backwards towards the steps, Ben shuffling after her, the body sagging between them. Ellie felt her palms sweat, the pain in her hand where she’d been cut, the rope burns. She bumped into the first step then lowered her backside on to a higher one and slid herself up, gripping tight. Ben stepped closer into Jack, getting a better grip on his thighs as Ellie bumped herself up the stairs one at a time. As she went up, Jack’s head reached the bottom step, so that Ellie had to heave his weight up and over, his skull bumping on the steps with a solid clunk.

Seven heaves and she was at the top of the steps, sitting on deck, pulling at Jack’s arms. Ben had changed his grip and was pushing at Jack’s arse, lifting it over the top step. Ellie imagined the corpse farting in Ben’s face. Didn’t bodies piss and shit themselves when they died? She was sure she’d read that somewhere.

Jack was on deck. Ellie and Ben slumped at either end getting their breath back. Ellie stood up and did a three-sixty. No sign of any boats. She grabbed the binoculars and scanned again. She wondered about people on shore, if anyone was paying them any notice, just a normal sailing boat on the firth. A high-powered telescope or binoculars would be able to identify them, but no one could see Jack’s body from anywhere except up close, as he was nestled in the footwell of the deck.

She looked at him. His hair was dark and slick, the water around him pink with blood. The wound in his neck was raw and open, a ragged mess of skin and flesh.

She heard a sound. Something alien, electronic. It was so out of place it took her a moment to realise it was a ringtone, a descending scale of notes, coming from Jack’s body. She exchanged a glance with Ben, then crouched down, tilted her head. She went into his trouser pocket and pulled out a mobile. ‘Alison’ flashing on the screen. Calling to find her husband. Ellie thought about GPS, could it be tracked? She switched the phone off and slipped it into her pocket.

Ben headed back into the cabin and she followed. He took one handle of the kit bag and looked at her. She lifted the other handle and took the strain. The two of them waddled with the weight between them to the step, then Ben went up backwards, pulling as hard as he could, Ellie placing her hands under the back end of the bag, pushing as it slid up the steps in short yanks and spurts until it landed on deck with a thunk.

Then she and Ben lifted a rucksack each. Hers was too heavy to get on her back so she heaved it up and cradled it in her arms, using her elbows on the stairs to lever herself on to the deck. She dropped the rucksack with a clack of bricks from inside.

Ben went into one of the small lockers on the side of the deck and pulled out spare ropes and ties. He looked up, checking the water around them, then down at the body.

‘We need to get him on the side here, before we tie the weights on.’

He nudged past the body to Jack’s legs as Ellie took the hands again. The skin of Jack’s hands felt rubbery. They hauled him out of the footwell and up to the port side of the deck. The effort of it made the boat rock, and Ellie and Ben fell on to their knees next to the body, sliding close to the edge.

Jack was in view now if anyone came by. From here, they could just give him a little push and he’d be in the water.

Ellie was down at the kit bag, waiting. Ben took the other handle and they heaved it up and on to Jack’s body. Ellie winced as the weight squashed Jack’s chest and stomach. She picked up a rope and tied the handle of the kit bag to Jack’s arm, then forced the rope beneath him, slid it under his neck and round the other side, connecting with his right arm then the other handle of the bag.