River of Souls (40 page)
Authors: Kate Rhodes
‘You’re pale, Alice. Do you need fresh air?’
‘Definitely.’
As we walked away from Hay’s Galleria, the river appeared in front of us without announcement. It looked sleepy and benign, half a mile of black water rolling by too slowly to hurt anyone. But when I looked closer, currents were twisting under its surface like ropes pulled taut.
‘Jesus. Can you believe we were up to our necks in that last night?’ he muttered.
‘Thank God we’re on dry land.’
‘Speak for yourself. I’m completely out of my depth.’ His shoulders blocked the streetlight as he leant down to kiss me, leaving me giddy when he pulled away.
‘I wish I was taller.’
‘God, I don’t. I’ve got a thing for perfect, doll-like blondes.’
‘Buy yourself a Barbie then.’
His smile widened. ‘Is that how you see yourself? A knife-wielding Barbie with a terrifying IQ?’ We carried on walking towards my flat, his arm slung across my shoulder. ‘You’re better than that. If I remember rightly, you saved my life.’
‘I should have let someone else fish you out. I ripped my favourite top, and you’re the reason my bike got nicked.’
‘I’ll make it up to you.’
I stopped to kiss him again, which delayed our progress, but the walk home didn’t take long, the river tracking us every step of the way. We paused to stare at it one last time by Cherry Garden Pier. The headlights of passing cars on the opposite bank scattered splinters of colour across the water. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but with my eyes half closed, they could almost have been spectres trapped beneath its depths.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks are due to my agent Teresa Chris who remains my great advocate and an excellent companion on shopping expeditions. Ruth Tross is not only a brilliant editor, she is also unfailingly kind and charming. Nick Sayers remains the loveliest man in publishing. Rebecca Mundy is due great thanks for her constant work as my publicist, her encouragement and the regular miracles she performs. Many thanks are also due to my husband Dave Pescod for his unstinting support, Miranda Landgraf, Penny Hancock, Sophie Hannah, and the inspiring members of the 134 club. The Thames Police provided me with a tremendously helpful tour, which unlocked some of the river’s murky secrets. Thanks also to the staff of the London Museum and the British Museum for educating me about the artefacts which have been dredged from the river in recent years. Thanks to Professor Sylvia Helman for advice about the symptoms of schizophrenia and episodic psychosis; your insights into the nature of mental illness helped a very great deal. Thanks to DS Dan Miller (I promise to include you in the next book, and to make you tall, dark and handsome). DC Laura Shaw, thanks also for excellent guidance on matters of police procedure. Finally, huge thanks are due to the hundreds of reviewers and bloggers who have taken the trouble to rate my work in recent years. Your thoughtful comments have boosted my confidence and helped shape me as a writer. That includes you, Julie Boon, Peggy Breckin and Claire Brown.
Note:
Some of the locations in this book are real, but some are imaginary. Apologies for changing some of London’s geography, history, and street names; my motive is always to tell the best possible story.
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