I hit the water. No, it hit me. It slapped me in the face then pulled me under. My head filled with its stink. I tried to hold my breath, but the water’s wet fingers were in my nostrils, inching up and up. I couldn’t open my mouth to scream; if I did, I’d be dead. But at this rate, I was going to be dead anyway. The River Thames’s strong arms yanked me, away from the boat, away from my mother, away from my life.
Below the surface, the Thames talks to you. It’s the stab of beaks as the gulls dive for fish. It’s the sound of oars plunging in and out of the heavy water as pilots guide the merchant ships up to Wool Quay. As I sank further down, I thought I heard different sounds, proper voices, children’s voices like mine. If I could open my eyes, I was sure I’d see those children floating on the current, children like me who’d wobbled and fallen.
“Tell us your story, Eve,” they whispered. “Tell us your story.”