At Death's Window Read Online Free

Wellington boot in the water he unzipped the man’s windcheater and looked for a wallet, but there was nothing in the inside pockets. He couldn’t make himself force a hand into his trouser pockets, but they looked empty too, although they seemed to be oozing mud. So he stood back, struck again by the unnatural pose: the diver, each bone aligned to its full extent, as if he’d woken up in bed and this was the first stretch of the day.
    The wound gaped. Leo looked back at the children, his eye going beyond, tracing their footprints back towards land. The tide had risen, and it looked as though they might already be on an island. If he’d acted then – instantly – they’d have been safe. It was only two or three feet of water. But he kept thinking that if he slipped he might get washed away and then the kids would be alone, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Juliet, his wife, would never forgive him. She wasn’t a judgemental person, but she had a shrewd eye for Leo’s slightly flaky decision-making under pressure. So, instead, he ordered Paulo and Lucilla to quickly reconnoitre their new kingdom. The children ran to the edges – north, south, east, west – and reported back. They were trapped, it seemed, and then it really was too late.
    The children didn’t panic. Cornelia had started crying when she’d seen the corpse but had quickly recovered. Paulo was fascinated, excited even, while Lucilla just watched, as she always did, taking it all in. The realization that broke Leo’s heart was the knowledge that their lack of fear sprang from confidence in him: that he would get them all safely back to the 4×4 and then drive them off to a nice warm pub for fish and chips and sticky toffee pudding. So the children didn’t panic. But Leo did. He made an elaborate ploy of examining his mobile phone as if it held the secret to walking on water.
    Then Lucilla said a woman was waving from the bank near Gun Hill – the sandy hill at the eastern edge of the outlet to the sea, the counterpoint to Scolt Head. Relief flooded through Leo’s veins like heroin. They all waved back and bellowed: ‘Help!’ Stupidly, they were so relieved they were all smiling and laughing, and Leo was tormented by the thought that the woman would think they were having fun. She returned the wave, then ran, walked, ran, walked along the towpath back towards Burnham Overy Staithe. She’d have to find a phone – a landline. Leo checked his watch: 3.08 p.m. The chalk board by the harbour had said high tide was 2.45 p.m., but Leo was no day-tripping fool. Winds and air pressure often combined to bottle up the water; drive the tide in with extra force. Tide tables were useful, but all the locals said you had to use your eyes.
    Twenty minutes later the water had reached Leo’s knees and he could feel the current tugging at his trousers. Another few inches and his own weight would be sufficiently diminished to the point where he’d be unable to keep a foothold. His muscles were shaking quite badly now, and he kept readjusting his legs to hide the tremor from the children. He briefly let go of Paulo’s hand and was dismayed to see the first flash of fear in the boy’s eyes; but he needed the arm free to pick Cornelia up, because the water was at her chest. Once he had her on his hip the boy could wrap both arms round his father’s thigh. Lucilla squeezed his other hand and he realized with a desperate sadness that she was trying to comfort
him
.
    Thunder rolled over them from a bank of clouds which had formed as if by black magic right over their heads. Scenarios flashed like newspaper headlines before Leo’s eyes: all of them dead, the children saved but him dead, and worst of all – all of them dead
except
him.
    He checked his watch: thirty-one minutes had passed since the woman had waved from Gun Hill.
    ‘OK,’ he said, and this time his voice was an odd half-octave too high so that all the children looked at their father. ‘Let’s