Where was the harm in knowing that? Not that she swam anymore. And now he remembered how she’d got all jumpy when Gary and Melanie had tried to make her go to the water’s edge and splash around. Maybe she didn’t want to be reminded. Or perhaps it was quite different, swimming in a competition pool versus having a dip in the sea. Like ballet dancers not wanting to do the sort of dancing everyone else did.

That evening, he was deliberately jolly when they met, even a bit silly, but she seemed to notice, so he stopped. After a while, he felt normal again. Almost normal, anyway. When he first started going out with girls, he’d found there were moments when he suddenly thought, I don’t understand anything at all. With his second girlfriend, Karen, for instance: they’d been jogging along nicely, no pressure, having fun, when she’d asked, “So where’s all this leading, then?” As if there were only two choices: up the aisle or up the garden path. Other times, with other women, he’d say something, just something ordinary, and — splash — he’d find himself in deep water.

They were in bed, Andrea’s nightie pulled up around her waist in the fat roll he was quite used to feeling against his belly, and he was going it a bit, when she shifted her legs and crushed him with them, like a nutcracker, he thought.

“Mmm, big strong swimmer’s legs,” he muttered.

She didn’t answer, but he knew she’d heard. He carried on, but could tell from her body that her mind wasn’t on things. Afterward, they lay on their backs, and he said some stuff, but she didn’t pick up on anything. Oh, well, work tomorrow, Vernon thought. He went to sleep.

When he dropped by the Right Plaice to pick her up that evening, Mrs. Ridgewell said Andrea had called in sick. He rang her mobile but she didn’t answer, so he texted her. Then he went around to the house and tried her bell. He left it a couple of hours, phoned again, rang the bell, then let himself in.