Page 165 of Serenity Falls

I stared at Hatchett. ‘What is it?’

He took off his hat. And that’s when I knew, with gut-wrenching, heart-crushing certainty. The scream was rising in my throat before he even uttered the words: ‘It’s Davey. There’s been an accident.’

We drove in the sheriff’s car towards the coroner’s office. I kept hearing those words again and again, but they wouldn’t sink in. It’s Davey. There’s been an accident. They kept bouncing off me, like bullets against an armour of denial. An accident. Drowned. A tragedy. But I couldn’t – wouldn’t – believe it.

‘Why aren’t we going home?’

‘I told you,’ Hatchett said softly. ‘He’s been taken to the morgue.’

‘He’ll be cold there.’

‘They’re looking after him.’

‘His favourite toy.’ I stared at him in panic. ‘Buddy. He hasn’t got his favourite toy. He can’t sleep without Buddy. I need to get him.’

‘Maybe later. Okay?’

I nodded. Of course, it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again. My brain kept swaying back and forth. One side standing at the edge of a huge abyss, screaming in terror and grief. The other calmly repeating: This isn’t happening. Davey isn’t dead. You only saw him this afternoon. He’s only four. He can’t die. And he can swim. Davey can swim. So how could he drown? This is all a mistake. Just a big mistake.

We pulled up outside the coroner’s office and funeral directors. I didn’t want to move. It felt like a step closer to admitting reality.

‘C’mon, Serena,’ Hatchett said, opening the door. ‘He’s just in here.’

I blinked at him and slowly climbed out of the car. My legs almost gave. Hatchett grabbed my elbow and steadied me. ‘I’ve got you.’

Helplessly, I let him lead me inside.

‘Just this way,’ Hatchett said, and something in his voice was odd, like he was nervous.

We walked into a waiting room. Pastel yellow, magazines on the coffee table, pictures of Serenity Falls on the walls. There was another door opposite.

‘Is he … is Davey through there?’

‘You should sit down,’ Hatchett said.

‘I don’t want to sit down. I want to see my son.’

The door opposite opened and the coroner, Malcolm Gravelot, walked in.

‘Hello, Serena.’

‘Where’s Davey?’

Gravelot looked at Hatchett, who gave a small nod.

‘Serena, Davey is alive.’

I just stared at him. My vision blurred. I thought I might throw up.

‘What? Is this some kind of sick joke?’

‘No.’

‘Then why … why would you—’ I couldn’t continue. Dizziness washed over me. I stumbled and grabbed for the back of an armchair for support.

‘Here,’ Hatchett said. ‘Sit down.’

This time I didn’t argue. I couldn’t.