The sun was fully up by the time Tom reached home.
He was cold, soaked through to the bone, but he just wanted to get there as quickly as possible. That was the first thing. Sort everything else out after that. Just get home.
The wind and easing rain made him feel colder the further he went.
He pulled off the main road, turned down the bank. As he got closer to his house he realised something was wrong. There was a burned out shell of a car in front of it. Pearl’s car was parked halfway up the hill. And his Land Rover was parked haphazardly. It had a shattered windscreen.
His heart started beating faster. He pulled up, adrenaline pumping round his body once more. Instinct kicking in. And then he saw them. Lila, Pearl and another girl standing on the concrete causeway, looking down at something in front of them. He turned off the engine.
They had already seen him, heard the bike. Pearl and Lila were running towards him, the other girl some way behind. He guessed who she was.
‘Hey,’ he said.
Lila was the first to reach him. She hugged him so hard he felt he would burst into tears there and then.
No words offered, no words needed.
Then Pearl reached him. The hugging started again.
They were fine. They were all fine. There was nothing to worry about. They were all right. They were all right.
Smiles and tears from two of the women. He looked at the third. She smiled at him too. He returned it. A perfect homecoming.
He made to head inside.
‘No,’ said Lila. ‘Not yet. Here.’ She took his arm, escorted him to the causeway.
There was the body of a man lying half in, half out of the water. Tied up with the tow rope from Tom’s Land Rover.
‘We’re just waiting for the tide to come in,’ said Lila. ‘Or the police to arrive. See which happens first.’ She looked at him, rage in her eyes. ‘I know what I want to happen.’
Tom’s exhaustion was coming back.
‘No,’ he said.
He walked down to the causeway, grabbed the ropes round the man’s body. Hauled him out of the water, onto the dry concrete.
No,’ he said again.
Lila stared at him. ‘What are you doing? He killed your friend, Quint.’
Tom stopped, stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Sorry. I should have said it differently. But he did. And took his place. He was going to kill us, but we got away from him.’ She looked down at the prone man. ‘Why did you do that? The bastard should suffer.’
Tom looked down at the pitiful wreck of the man before him. There was no fight left in him. Either of them.
He thought of Foley. Of the man who used to be Foley. Of the man who used to be Mick Eccleston.
‘Because that’s not who we are. Not now, not anymore. We’re better than that. We have to be.’
‘But . . .’
‘No. No buts. We have to be. We can’t change today into tomorrow like that. You . . .’
He slumped down next to the man on the causeway, no longer able to stand up.
And began to sob his heart out.