67

The river snaked its way through the lower meadow. At some points it was only ten feet across, the cow parsley growing on either bank almost touching in the middle.

Here, at a broad oxbow, it widened. The far bank was twenty yards away, shadowed by a willow that leant over the water.

Freddie landed with a splash and a yell. He surfaced with a whoop, entirely unabashed about being naked in front of a mixed crowd.

‘Beautiful!’ Freddie yelled. ‘Come on in!’

The day had gone well. Bill Taylor was paying off the locals, many of whom would be heading straight for the pub. Freddie had hit on the idea of jumping into the river and wouldn’t let up until I relented. If he wanted to act like a pup, I couldn’t see the harm in it.

Vaughn pulled off his shirt.

‘Look away, ladies,’ he said, as he pulled off his trousers and underwear. He picked his way through a patch of nettles on the bank and launched himself into the water with a shout.

‘You’re next, Cook!’ Freddie shouted, as he trod water in the middle of the channel. Vaughn swam across to the far side, disappearing under the canopy of willow.

I didn’t fancy the nettles, so I walked upstream twenty yards to the bridge. In former years we used it to get the cattle across to the meadows on the other side. We’d got rid of the herd last year, on government orders, but the bridge was still caked with dried cow dung. I pulled off my shirt and draped it over the railing, giving the sweat-soaked back a fighting chance of drying out while I was in the water.

‘Cover your eyes, Miriam,’ Margaret said, putting her hand in front of Miriam’s face. I stripped off quickly and leapt from the bridge. Too late, I hoped the river was deep enough. The last time I’d done this was as a boy, more than thirty years ago.

The water was cool and clear, colder in the depths. I surfaced to laughter and applause from Margaret and Miriam.

‘You’ve got quite the following,’ Vaughn said, swimming back to the middle of the channel.

‘Don’t mind him, he’s jealous,’ Freddie said, floating further downstream. ‘Cook, this is glorious. I feel like I could swim for miles. Where does this go?’

‘Where all rivers go,’ I said.

‘You mean I could swim to the sea?’

‘You might draw a bit of attention swimming through Lewes like that,’ I said.

I looked up to Margaret but she and Miriam were gone. I could hear them, giggling and shushing.

‘Keep still, you’ll have us over!’ Margaret snapped. I swam upstream to the shadow of the bridge. The women were -negotiating the rather tricky process of getting into the rowing boat we kept moored to a rotting old dock on the far side of the bridge. Bill Taylor sometimes used it for fishing, or to inspect the inlets to our drainage ditches where wooden boards kept the river out until we wanted to flood the meadows.

Margaret was already on board, and Miriam had one foot on land, one in the boat. She hopped in, and collapsed on the seat, as the small craft settled.

Margaret tried to use the oars in the rowlocks, but it was clearly a new experience for her. She pushed on the right oar and the boat started to rotate.

As the boat drifted downstream, Vaughn circled it.

‘That’s no fun, girls,’ Vaughn said. He grabbed the left oar. ‘You’ll never cool off up there.’

His weight pulled down the left side of the boat, eliciting a scream from Miriam and a glare from Margaret, who had the look of someone trying to master a new skill. She waggled the oar, but Vaughn wouldn’t let go.

‘No, Vaughn!’ Miriam cried.

‘Come on, Cook! Help me get these nymphs into the water!’

Vaughn let go of the oar and circled the boat. He darted in, reached up and grabbed the side, two feet above the water. As he settled back into the water, the weight of his body pulled the side of the boat down, close to capsizing.

I swam backwards, putting some distance between me and the horseplay. If the boat went over, it would flip with a lot of momentum.

‘Vaughn!’ Miriam cried again. I couldn’t tell if she was enjoying herself or not. If she hadn’t been Vaughn’s sister I would have intervened. Ungentlemanly conduct. As it was, it felt like a private joke, best kept out of.

Miriam stood up. Not the best move in terms of improving her balance.

‘Wait!’ she said. ‘Let me get ready!’

She reached down and grabbed the hem of her dress. With a deft movement, she pulled it up, over her head. She waved it with a flourish, and I looked away as the setting sun shone through her slip, showing every detail of every curve.

‘In you come!’ Vaughn shouted, as he pushed up on the boat, counter to the way Miriam braced herself. For a -second it looked like she might regain her balance, but Vaughn pulled the boat down, and Miriam went over. As she fell, her head hit the side of the boat with a heavy thud. She hit the water with a splash. Then there was silence.

Vaughn swam backwards, putting distance between himself and the boat. He had the decency to look sheepish, ready to receive an earful from his sister the moment she surfaced.

But she didn’t surface. Margaret looked at the side of the boat, and held up her hand. It was red with blood.

‘She’s hurt,’ Margaret said.

‘What’s going on?’ Freddie called, swimming back from around the corner, powerful strokes bringing him closer by the second.

‘Miriam’s playing the fool,’ Vaughn said.

‘Cook,’ Margaret said.

I was already filling my lungs, blowing out until they were empty, until they wouldn’t expand any further. I did it again, partly for the oxygen, partly to ready myself for what I might find. I dived.

The water was cloudy. Vaughn’s splashing around had stirred up the silt and it was hard to see more than a few feet. The shade from the bridge made it gloomy, and the boat above made it even harder. I swam to the bottom with my hands outstretched, heading for where I guessed she’d gone in.

I felt in the reeds, expecting to see her any second. My lungs were telling me to breathe, and I gave it a count of twenty, before I gave in.

I surfaced as Freddie joined us.

‘Where is she?’ Margaret asked.

‘She’s fine,’ Vaughn said. ‘Swims like a bloody conger eel.’

‘Miriam?’ Margaret shouted.

I dived again. The shadow of the boat and the cloudy water made it impossible to see. I pulled for the bottom, heading downstream this time. There was a flash of white. I swam towards it and grabbed it, getting a handful of mud along with the fabric.

I slung the sodden material into the boat as I surfaced. Margaret held it up.

‘It’s her dress,’ she said.