The Prologue

September 1984 – Waldringhythe Abbey, Suffolk

It’s the afternoon of an Indian summer. The birds are silent, and the air hangs hot and dry. You’re looking in through a window. It’s not right to be a voyeur, but you can’t help yourself. You’re much too fascinated. You see a young man you know to be a priest reclining in a chair. At his feet sits a woman. She’s clearly some years older than he, but endowed with a rare and fortunate beauty.

‘Now I’m ready to talk to you,’ she says.

‘Then talk,’ he replies. ‘You may pause as often as you need to, but I won’t interrupt. Just tell me when you’ve reached the end.’

She begins to speak. You recognise gentle Irish overtones, but her voice is so hesitant and soft you have to strain to hear the words.

‘The laughter became louder and louder, until it turned to helpless hysteria and clapping. Then a sudden lurch of the boat, a splash, and a shout of “Child overboard!”

Roger rushed from the wheelhouse to hurl himself into the water.

Toby followed him in nanoseconds.

Tim briefly stood transfixed before diving in too.

Then all the other men tore off their ties and jackets and shoes. The women were screaming, but I was silent and calm, just waiting for the first good swimmer to reach her. There was a real panic around the bow, with too many rescuers getting in each other’s way, but Roger’s strong crawl gained ground over everyone else.

“Where was the splash?” he shouted.

“Over there! Over there!” thirty voices yelled back.

“Where for fuck’s sake over there?”

‘He dived under the water time, after time, after time, but it soon became stirred up into a muddy sludge. He tried and tried so hard, but each quest became shorter and more desperate.

‘The women were now silent and holding disbelieving hands over their mouths. The San Fairy Ann, with no one in control, slewed a wayward course and collided hard with the river bank. I heard a cracking sound of glass breaking and the crumpling of metal twisting, and those of us left on board were flung on our backs.

‘No one wanted to be the first to admit it was a hopeless cause, but in the fullness of time Roger conceded failure and everyone in the water began to gasp and scramble for dry land. The women were now openly sobbing, and rapidly abandoned ship to assist their menfolk. I was left to stand alone.

‘The place she’d fallen in was now as still as a millpond and the normal life of the river had already returned. A heron hooked a fish with the plummeting beauty of its large wings, a pair of swans led their cygnets in a slow, weed-trawling glide, and the wind swung the willows. It was only then that I screamed. I screamed so loudly I didn’t make a sound.’

She stops speaking, slowly raises her head, and looks up at the priest. ‘My daughter was drowned. My husband was drowned. There’s no more story to be told…’