Читать книгу Dark Waters: The addictive psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down - Mary-Jane Riley - Страница 8

Gary Lodge and his wife, Ronnie, both noticed the boat as they motored past the island on the second day of their holiday. It looked brand new, its white paintwork gleaming in the sunshine. Although it was the middle of the day, the curtains were closed. They didn’t remark on it to each other, though – Gary thought the people on board had probably been on the razz the night before (though when he thought about it later he realized there was no pub on the island and no way off it except by boat). Ronnie thought it was a case of daytime nookie; though, if it had been her, she would have left the curtains open.

Three days later, the Lodges, after lazy days of boating, drinking and sweaty sex, travelled back down the Broads.

‘Isn’t that the same boat?’ said Gary.

‘As what?’ Ronnie was enjoying the cool breeze on her face.

‘You know. As when we came by the other day. It had its curtains closed then. Still does.’

Ronnie smiled, put her arms around Gary and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. ‘Probably, babes. I don’t know. We’ve had a good time though, haven’t we?’ She didn’t want to think about other people, she wanted to keep hold of this loving feeling she had towards Gary – all too rare during their mundane everyday life that seemed to be filled with work and just getting by.

But Gary didn’t react to Ronnie’s amorous advances. He started to turn the wheel of the boat.

She looked up. ‘What are you doing now?’

‘Just want to have a look,’ he said, guiding the boat across the water and behind the other cruiser. ‘Tie her up, will you?’

Ronnie frowned. The loving feeling evaporating into thin air. She wanted to tell him to jump off the boat and tie the frigging thing up himself. He’d thought himself some sort of Captain Birdseye, but without the beard, the whole bloody holiday. But she didn’t say anything. She swallowed her irritation, sighed, grabbed the rope and jumped out onto the bank. That was one thing she wouldn’t miss: all this jumping on and off.

‘Okay,’ she called when she was done.

‘Done the right knot?’

Same question every time. ‘Yep.’

Gary stepped on to the bank, then hesitated.

‘What now?’ said Ronnie, hands on hips, scowling.

Gary rubbed his hand around his mouth. ‘I dunno.’

‘They’ve probably left it and gone somewhere. Done a runner or something. Come on, let’s get back on our boat. We’ve gotta get it back to the yard. I don’t want to be caught up with loads of traffic on the A12.’ She turned away from him and began fiddling with the rope.

‘It doesn’t …’ Gary hesitated. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’ He sniffed the air. ‘It smells funny.’

Ronnie sniffed too. ‘That’s just the countryside, isn’t it?’

Gary put a foot on the other boat and knocked on the sliding canopy. ‘Hello? Anybody there?’ He glanced at Ronnie, then tried the door. It was stuck.

He knocked again, and frowned. ‘I’m just gonna—’

‘Gary. I think you should leave it.’ He was bound to make a mess of things and then they’d be in trouble. And she wanted to get out of there. Pronto.

Too late. Gary tugged at the door. It slid open. He stuck his head inside.

‘Ronnie, it smells minging in here.’

His voice, thought Ronnie, was wavering, as if he was scared, and all at once she was worried. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t go in, Gary.’ She shivered and looked around. Goosebumps. Why had she got goosebumps? There was nothing but water and sky and flowers and green stuff. Too much green; she preferred the concrete blocks of home. ‘Gary, come on, let’s go. We’ll tell that lot at the boatyard when we get back. Let them come out and deal with it.’

But Gary had already stepped inside.

Twenty seconds later he stumbled out, fell off the boat, and threw up in the grass.