‘But I’ve never done this,’ Lizzie pointed out.
‘No problem.’ Tessa was already rigging the second boat. ‘Tom?’
The big man did the honours. With the help of Tessa and a couple of others, he slipped the quad off the trailer and into the water. The tide had just turned and was beginning to push back into the estuary. Another rower held the nose of the quad into the current while Pendrick helped Lizzie into the bow seat. Adjusting the footstretchers to the length of her legs, Pendrick told her to push back in the seat. Lizzie watched him tightening the pegs that secured the footstretchers.
‘Try now,’ he said.
‘Try what?’
‘Try moving the seat. Here. .’
The oars had been stowed across Lizzie’s midriff. Pendrick pushed them out through the gates until Lizzie was in the rowing position.
‘OK. Now come forward. Keep the blades out of the water. Just get a feel for the weight and the movement. That’s good. That’s fine. Thumbs on the ends of the handles. No pressure, eh? Just treat them like a friend.’
Lizzie took a couple of practice strokes. Pendrick would be rowing in front of her. The rest of the crew, all women, were still on the beach, watching.
‘How does it feel?’ Pendrick again.
‘Fine.’
It was true. The seat moved sweetly beneath her bum. The oars, to her surprise, were nicely balanced. She couldn’t wait to get going.
Pendrick was still squatting beside her, briefing her on this detail and that. She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands. Worker’s hands. Big. Calloused. Dirt under the nicely shaped fingernails. He tested the tension on her foot straps, then made an adjustment to a bungee that secured the life jackets on the bulkhead behind her.
‘Anyone ask you whether you can swim?’
‘No.’
‘Well?’
‘I can swim fine.’
‘Good. If anything happens, stay with the boat. The guy to listen to is the cox. She’s in charge. OK?’
He got to his feet and threw a look at Tessa. He didn’t seem to smile much.
Tessa, it turned out, would be cox. She told Pendrick to get in the boat. For such a big man he moved with surprising grace. Tessa steadied the quad as he stepped in and settled his weight on the number two seat. The rest of the crew joined them.
‘Just do what I do, OK?’ Pendrick again.
Lizzie nodded. The woman holding the boat gave the bow a push. Lizzie could feel a shiver of current beneath them as the quad slipped free from the beach. It was an extraordinary sensation and she wanted to cherish it, this first taste of the real thing, but she was concentrating too hard on Pendrick.
‘Take a stroke,’ he said. ‘Just the right-hand oar. Help me pull us round.’
She did her best. Her blade skidded across the surface of the water. She felt hopelessly awkward. She panicked and tried again. This time her blade clashed with Pendrick’s. Horrible sound. Deeply embarrassing.
‘No problem. We’ve all done it. Just take it really easy, yeah?’
He reached forward, took another long slow stroke. Lizzie did the same. This time it worked. They were out now in the current, clear water between the boat and the beach, landmarks up on the promenade slipping by. She couldn’t believe it.
‘Even pressure.’ Pendrick’s head was half turned.
‘What’s that?’
‘Both oars.’
Lizzie did what she was told. Another stroke. Another little triumph.
‘Easy up. Sort yourselves out.’ Tessa this time.
Everyone stopped rowing. The boat drifted on. Tessa wanted to know whether Lizzie was OK, whether Tom was taking care of her. One of the other girls laughed. Lizzie said she was fine. The crew numbered off from the bow, Lizzie first.
‘I’m fine,’ she repeated.
‘Two.’
‘Three.’
‘Stroke.’
‘Come forward to row.’ Tessa again. ‘Ready to row. Row.’
At the other end of the boat Lizzie had no idea what was happening. All she could do was follow the big man in front of her, do her best to mirror his every move and try not to screw things up. Most of the time it worked, stroke after stroke, fierce concentration, trying to store Pendrick’s muttered asides in her teeming brain, reaching forward to take the catch, keeping her arms straight as she pushed back against the footplate, remembering not to bury the whole blade in the water as she pulled hard before the extraction. By the time they’d made it down to the dock, she was wiped out. Not physically but mentally.
Tessa had called for another stop. Pendrick turned in his seat. Lizzie was staring up at the biggest of the apartment blocks on the waterfront. It had to be at least six storeys.
‘What’s that place?’ she asked.
‘Regatta Court.’
‘It’s gross.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do. And the colour. Who ever let that happen?’
‘Fuck knows.’
The big man was shaking his head. And when he turned to her again, he at last had a smile on his face.
An hour or so later, back on dry land, he walked her to the Impreza.
‘You were good,’ he said. ‘I mean it.’
Lizzie was touched. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to thank them all. She’d arrived with zero expectations, preoccupied with not making a fool of herself. She sensed it might be tricky and she hadn’t been wrong, but there was something about these people that gave her immense confidence. They’d made room for her. They’d expected her to measure up. And that’s exactly what she’d done. No drama. No girly hysterics. Just the calm sweep of water at the end of each new stroke and the comforting tug as the boat surged forward.
Pendrick wanted to know whether she’d enjoyed it.
‘It was brilliant,’ she said.
‘You mean that?’
‘Yeah, I do.’
‘You’ll come again?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Thursday?’
‘For sure.’
They were at the car by now and she was looking for her keys. Pendrick was gazing out at the water. Another crew was pushing hard against the tide.
‘Got far to go?’
‘Colaton Raleigh.’
‘Country girl?’ He seemed surprised.
‘Far from it.’
She’d found the keys at last. She thanked him again, then paused.
‘You mind me asking a question?’ she said.
‘Of course not.’
‘This guy who was found dead the other day. The one on the TV news. The guy the girls were talking about in the boat.’
‘Kinsey?’
‘Yeah.’ Lizzie bent to re-tie her shoe lace. ‘You knew him?’
‘Sort of.’
‘So. .’ Lizzie glanced up. ‘What do you think happened?’
Suttle was at the stove when Lizzie got back. There was a pile of sliced potatoes ready for the frying pan and he’d opened a tin of baked beans to go with the sausages. Grace had been bathed and might fancy a story. So far, Lizzie hadn’t said a word.
‘So how was it?’ he asked at last.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘Fantastic. They’re all talking about Kinsey. Fascinating.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Don’t worry. No one knows I’m married to a cop.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’
‘So how’s it going? This Kinsey thing?’
Suttle studied her a moment, then turned back to the stove.
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sort Grace out first?’
She was back downstairs within minutes. Grace was already asleep. She’d showered and changed and now she had something else on her mind.
‘That message on the answering machine,’ she said. ‘What was that about?’
Suttle explained. Lizzie had always had a soft spot for Winter. ‘You’re telling me they want his address?’
‘I’m telling you they want to hurt the man. Maybe worse than that.’
‘You mean kill him?’
‘These things can get out of control. It’s best if they never catch up with him.’
‘Shit.’ Lizzie told him about finding the Pompey programme on the kitchen table.
Suttle stared at her.
‘On the where?’
‘There.’ Lizzie pointed at the table. ‘I was out for maybe an hour. Maybe less. When I came back, there it was. They must have got in through the window next door.’