Page 30 of Serenity Falls

For some reason, something about his tone rankles. It makes me want to take my phone out and start scrolling through Reddit. I decide to change the subject.

‘So, are there any bigger stores in Serenity Falls?’ I ask. ‘A supermarket, petrol station?’

‘There was a building project out on the west side a few years back. We already had the police station, funeral home, the hospital and college. Now we have a supermarket, bowling alley, gas and electric charging station.’

‘So, Serenity is pretty much self-contained?’

He nods, rosy face glowing. ‘About the only thing we don’t have is a taxi rank.’ He spreads his arms wide. ‘Because why would you want to go anywhere else?’

To make a fucking phone call, I think.

‘How long have you lived in Serenity Falls?’

‘All my life.’

‘Really?’

Lockhart looks older than fifty, and he must see the surprise on my face.

‘We moved here when I was nine. Of course, it was easier in those days. The Winsom Corporation was even offering incentives to come and live in Serenity Falls. They wanted families moving in. To create this thriving new community.’

‘Do your parents still live here?’

‘My father died some years ago. My mother has Parkinson’s. So now she’s taken care of at Serenity Senior Living.’

‘Right.’

We leave the bustle of Main Street and cross the road towards the park and lake. I find myself pausing to take it in. Much as my cynical British self wants to scoff at the sugar-sweet confection of this place, there is no doubt that the lake is stunning. Wide grassy banks slope gently down to a large, glittering expanse of water. Lily pads float on the surface and reeds wave in the faint breeze. Two or three smaller rivers branch off it in the distance. A pathway runs around the perimeter, and an ornate bridge crosses a small overflow. At the other end of the lake, a stunning French Colonial-style building overlooks the water.

‘Serenity Falls Hotel,’ Lockhart says. ‘Where we’re going for lunch.’

‘Nice.’

I stare around. Picnic benches and carts selling ice-cream and cold drinks are dotted around the park. Families sit on blankets on the grass, people throw Frisbees, and some more masochistic types jog around the path, huge headphones clamped to their heads like sweaty cybermen.

I can’t see anyone out on the water. ‘No one ever go in swimming?’

Lockhart looks at me and chuckles. ‘I forget. You’re new to Florida. He gestures towards a sign I hadn’t spotted before:

NO SWIMMING. ALLIGATORS LOVE A PICNIC TOO.

‘Ah, I see.’

‘Look but don’t dip,’ Lockhart says.

‘You ever had an alligator attack?’

‘Once, years ago. A teenager took a boat out on the lake at night and fell in. But he survived. Most people here are sensible. They follow the rules because they know what’s good for them.’

Lockhart takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his forehead. ‘Shall we stop for a moment before we visit the school?’ he suggests. ‘Maybe get a cold drink?’

‘Sure. Just some water for me.’

He nods and walks off towards one of the carts. I sit on a nearby bench to wait for him. It’s pleasant. The gentle lapping of the water, the cries of children playing, tinkling chimes of relaxing music drifting from somewhere. For the first time since we arrived, I start to feel the tension ease from my shoulders.

And then I spot the boy. He’s about four or five, dressed in blue shorts, a yellow T-shirt and a cowboy hat. He’s on his own, right by the edge of the lake. I glance around to see if I can spot his parents, or any adult, but there’s no one nearby. I glance back. Shit. The boy has gone. A cowboy hat floats on the lake’s surface. My blood slows and chills in my veins. No.

‘Hey,’ I shout to no one in particular. ‘A little boy … I think a little boy just went in the water.’