They lived in a ramshackle old Victorian house overlooking what had once been a wharf. David and Jenny were happy there; it was a great improvement on the estate where they had lived before. They loved the Thames, which ran alongside the garden centre which their father managed. But today, although the rain had cleared, the river was swollen, lapping uncomfortably close to the shore, while the house seemed to have a sullen, tired look. “I’m knackered,” said David as they walked up the front path. “I’m playing football this afternoon and I should be playing again tomorrow morning,” he added in martyred tones. “Well, you’re not now,” Jenny snapped. “We’ve got to go and report back to Sid and then take a look at the Roxy again.” “We’ve seen all we can, and it’s Sunday tomorrow. Don’t we get a day off?” “Don’t be so daft.” Jenny was angry now. “Haven’t you got any sense of responsibility?” “All right then.” David was honest at last. “I’m scared.”
