The water was cloudy. Vaughn’s splashing around had stirred up the silt and it was hard to see more than a few feet. The shade from the bridge made it gloomy, and the boat above made it even harder. I swam to the bottom with my hands outstretched, heading for where I guessed she’d gone in.
I felt in the reeds, expecting to see her any second. My lungs were telling me to breathe, and I gave it a count of twenty, before I gave in.
I surfaced as Freddie joined us.
‘Where is she?’ Margaret asked.
‘She’s fine,’ Vaughn said. ‘Swims like a bloody conger eel.’
‘Miriam?’ Margaret shouted.
I dived again. The shadow of the boat and the cloudy water made it impossible to see. I pulled for the bottom, heading downstream this time. There was a flash of white. I swam towards it and grabbed it, getting a handful of mud along with the fabric.
I slung the sodden material into the boat as I surfaced. Margaret held it up.
‘It’s her dress,’ she said.
68
Vaughn surfaced with a gasp for air. He’d been under the water for an eternity. He looked at us, frantically.
‘Bloody girl,’ he said. ‘Cook. Freddie. With me. We’ll start where she went in and work our way downstream. If we’re side by side we can’t miss her.’
With Vaughn in the middle, anchoring the line, Freddie and I filled our lungs and dived. Our activity had stirred up the silt on the bottom and the water was a soup. I swam to the riverbed, feeling the pressure of the water building as
I got deeper.
I ran my fingers in the mud and silt, and let the current carry me downstream. A shape loomed in front of me. Lighter than the mud, catching dull glimmers of what sunlight penetrated down here. My heart pounded, and I fought the desire to shoot to the surface.
I closed the distance to the shape and reached out to touch it, prepared for cold flesh.
Rough stone scraped my fingers. A rock, lighter than the silt, lying there underwater since the beginning of time.
I broke the surface. Freddie and Vaughn were already up, readying themselves for the next dive.
There was a whistle from the reeds downstream. An approximation of birdsong, but not a bird.
‘Ready?’ Vaughn asked, no longer hiding the desperation in his voice.
‘Quiet,’ I said.
The whistle called again, and I saw her. Head and shoulders bobbing above the surface, partly hidden by thick reeds, by the river’s edge. Vaughn’s head snapped around, following the sound.
‘You bloody idiot,’ he shouted.
Miriam swam out from the reeds, her translucent slip billowing behind her like a parachute.
‘Got you,’ she said.
‘For Christ’s sake, Miriam,’ Vaughn said. His voice was cold. The game was over.
‘What?’ Miriam asked.
Vaughn swam to the dock, upstream of the bridge.
‘You’re a bloody fool,’ he shouted.
Margaret was tying up the boat. Vaughn pulled himself out of the water and stood, naked, in front of her. He shook his head as she asked a question. He looked back at Miriam then said something to Margaret. Margaret threw Vaughn his clothes and stood up.
