I’ll never stop wondering: had he planned it all along? It was a tempting diversion at the time, I admit, and Jonathon didn’t protest. We were all drunk; all looking for escape. We gathered up the champagne and glasses, clinking in our shaking hands, and Jonathon held the rowing boat steady as I climbed into its barrel-like hull. There were two bench seats and a pair of oars sitting in a puddle of water running along the boat’s spine. I took the forward seat so I didn’t have to row. ‘Ahoy there,’ Jonathon roared as he leapt from the small jetty into the hull. The boat rocked precariously. He tossed the length of rope into the bows and lifted the oars into place. ‘I’ll row,’ he insisted, and David didn’t seem to mind. He sat next to me, staring with eyes hot enough to set me alight. ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked. ‘Yes, of course.’ I was certain I was melting. My skin was tacky. It was a humid night; the air expectant and heavy with moisture. ‘But I wish the rain would come.’ I shifted the flimsy material of my dress a little higher up my calves so it wouldn’t drag in the water swilling in the bottom of the boat.
