Julia shivered and looked up. The day had darkened perceptibly, and although the November afternoons drew in early, she thought the lessening visibility meant more rain. It had rained heavily every day for weeks. Jokes about the forty days and forty nights had long since grown stale; now glances at the heavy sky were followed by silent and resigned headshaking. Here in the chalk hills north of the Thames, water leached steadily from the saturated ground and flowed into already overburdened tributaries.

Matty had left his tightrope walking on the log and squatted at the water’s edge, poking about with a long stick. The stream, in ordinary weather a dry gully, now filled its banks, the rushing water as opaque as milky tea.

Julia, feeling increasingly cross, said, “Do come on, Matty, please.” Her stomach growled. “I’m hungry. And cold.” She hugged herself tighter. “If you don’t come I shall go without you.”

“Look, Julie!” Oblivious to her nagging, he gestured toward the water with the stick. “There’s something caught under the surface, just there. Dead cat, maybe?” He looked round at her and grinned.

“Don’t be disgusting, Matty.” She knew her prim and bossy tone would only fuel his teasing, but she was past caring. “I really will go without you.” As she turned resolutely away she felt an unpleasant cramping sensation in her abdomen. “Honestly, Matty, I don’t feel-”

The splash sprayed her legs even as she whipped around. “Matty! Don’t be such an-”

He’d fallen in, landing on his back with his arms and legs splayed awkwardly. “It’s cold,” he said, his face registering surprise. He scrabbled toward the bank, laughing, shaking the water from his eyes.