Page 176 of Serenity Falls

‘Yeah,’ Davey says. ‘If we just hug the bank all the way along, we reach the river. We need to follow that.’

‘How far is it to the cabin?’

‘Hard to say this way, but I reckon it’s going to take us an hour. Maybe more. On water, and then on foot through the woods.’

‘And how far in the tunnel?’

‘I guess maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. That’s the short part.’

‘Right.’

I don’t like any of this, but I like the idea of sticking around here in Serenity Falls even less.

‘The river is just ahead,’ Davey calls back. ‘Steer a little left.’

I push with the paddle, a little too hard. The kayak tips.

‘Whoah!’ Sadie clutches the side. ‘Careful, Dad.’

‘Sorry. Tiny bit out of my comfort zone.’

Somehow, we successfully steer out on to the river. It’s narrower and darker, despite the clouds parting to reveal a thin glimmer of moon.

‘About half a mile down here we need to go right to join a smaller branch-off,’ Davey says.

‘Right.’

I don’t like paddling along the river – and I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about paddling across the lake. It feels like eyes are watching us from the undergrowth along the banks. I can’t help thinking about alligators and Father Miller and his ruined leg.

We make it to the next turn. This river branch is so narrow we’re basically pushing ourselves along the banks. The feeling of claustrophobia increases. It’s humid and dank amid the trees. I slap at a few mosquitos.

‘Are we almost there?’ Sadie asks, immediately making me think of those rainy-day trips we used to take when she was small – heading off to Wales or Cornwall in our battered old car. Just a few minutes into the journey, I’d hear the familiar refrain: ‘Are we there yet, Daddy? Are we almost there?’ I feel my heart ache. I want to be back in the UK. Cold, wet, moaning about the traffic. I dig the paddle in with more urgency.

It takes about another ten minutes before we reach an impasse. The river has narrowed so much we can’t go any further.

‘Guess this is us,’ Davey says.

We use the paddles to drag the boat towards the bank. Then Davey climbs out. Sadie follows, and I’m last. We haul the kayak up on to the mud. I feel breathless and a little dizzy. My head is hurting again. But I need to do this for Sadie, I tell myself. For my daughter.

‘You okay?’ she asks me.

‘Dandy,’ I lie.

‘Right.’ Davey takes out his phone and turns on the light, pointing it around. ‘I’m pretty sure I know the way.’

‘Pretty sure?’ I query.

‘As much as I can be.’

‘Guess it’ll have to do.’

I hate woods and nature almost as much as water. Branches whip me in the face, creepers and undergrowth snag at my legs. Occasionally, I feel my feet sink into mud. Soon my trainers and socks are soaked. I feel out of breath, disorientated, and I’m still not entirely convinced that Davey knows where the hell he’s going. But we trudge on. We don’t have any choice.

Eventually, Davey says: ‘Wait.’

We all halt. He stares around.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Sadie says. ‘We’re lost.’