Like This, for Ever

he knew that she didn’t. ‘Right now, about five metres in the middle,’ he said. ‘Gets deeper when the tide’s in, obviously.’
    Five metres of cloudy, dark water. Barney had a sudden vision of himself stepping out and sinking down, through the silt and the oil, feeling the pull of friendly hands, only to realize it was weed clinging and that it wasn’t friendly at all, that it was taking him further down to the wrecked boats, the mud and rock at the bottom. To spend the last seconds of his life in an underwater city, peopled by corpses that had never managed to float free.
    ‘What?’ said Hatty, who’d seen him shiver. ‘Someone walk over your grave?’
    ‘Something like that,’ he admitted. ‘We should go, we can’t get into the Creek if the tide’s high.’
    The others were reluctant to leave the riverbank. Sam and Harvey were trying to skim stones, Jorge seemed strangely fascinated by the river in the fading light and Lloyd had discovered shells among the rocks. A bit like a Collie dog with badly behavedsheep, Barney chivvied them along. He was careful not to overdo it, he never forgot he was the youngest. Even so, more than once he was told to chill out.
    But it was difficult to chill when the sense of the river behind him was so strong, when the temptation to look back over his shoulder, like a nervous girl walking alone down a dark street, was close to irresistible. And when pictures were forming in his head of waves like tiny creatures, snapping at his ankles, getting ready to bring him down.
    He was an idiot. It was just a river, black and mighty and relentless, but still nothing more than an urban watercourse.
    ‘Guys, it’s raining, come on,’ complained Hatty and finally they started to leave the beach. Barney was the last to climb the steps. As he put his foot on the first, he had a feeling that the river called out to him. That it told him it would always be here, and it would be waiting.
    Riverside lanterns, round and pale like puffball mushrooms, were glowing softly when Dana arrived at the restaurant. Mark and Huck had gone on ahead; Helen, punctual to a fault, would have arrived fifteen minutes ago. They’d all be waiting for her.
    The river, just yards away, was racing past, and had taken on the fuller, more urgent sound it made when the tide was heading in. By the time they left the restaurant, the water would be pushing against the embankment wall.
    The restaurant was busy. She could almost feel the heat seeping out from the giant glass windows and doors. Most of them had steamed up already. Needing one last moment before she forced herself to be happy and upbeat – for Huck’s sake, at least, there was no fooling the other two – Dana walked to the railings and leaned out over the water.
    To her left, on the beach where the two Barlow boys had been found, all was in darkness. Only the reflection of lights from Tower Bridge told her where the water ended and the rocks began. Someone walking around down there, wearing dark clothes and moving without light, would not be spotted.
    On the other hand, the figure stepping out from the bridge’sshadow, wearing a light-coloured padded jacket, could be seen very clearly. He or she, it really wasn’t possible to tell, reached the concrete steps and began climbing. Slim, not too tall.
    Dana ran, away from the river, heading for Shad Thames, knowing the chances of cutting off the figure in the padded jacket were slim. The streets around Butler’s Wharf were busy, even in February, and she had to dodge her way around more than one group idling along, looking for somewhere to eat.
    Ahead, about thirty yards away, was the light-coloured jacket.
    ‘Hey!’
    Several people turned, including the one she was fixated on. Definitely a woman, a little older than she, thin face, hair hidden beneath a dark woollen hat. The face turned away, a group came out of a building and got between them. Dana picked up her pace as much as she could but she was wearing heels and the street was cobbled. She reached the corner and turned.
    No sign of the woman.
    By the time they reached Deptford Creek, Barney had a sense that several of the group were starting to think this wasn’t such a good idea after all. It had rained persistently since they’d left Bermondsey and all the children had wet hair and damp clothes. On Creekside they chained their bikes to a railing and Barney led them to the tall iron gate.
    ‘Nobody should be here at this time, but