Page 51 of Worth Every Risk

I push my way through the crowd, heading towards the riverbank. People hustle to get a better view, and I edge my way to the front, hoping that if I keep heading in the direction that Gemma and Lucie went, I’ll find them again.

A little further downstream, there’s a bridge over the river with a wooden railing. It’s not high, but it would definitely give the best view. It’s already chock-a-block up there, so I don’t have a chance of getting a spot.

As I watch, I see Lucie perched on top of the railing. Gemma is behind her, holding her in place with one hand on Lucie’s hip. Lucie’s staring at the water below, but Gemma is paying her no attention, talking animatedly to another parent beside her.

Nerves flutter in my stomach to see Lucie so precariously positioned, and anxiety whips through me. I wouldn’t let her sit like that, if it was me up there. Maybe I’m being paranoid. She’s with her mum, and Gemma will keep her safe.Won’t she?

I try to put it out of mind, but my eye keeps being drawn back to the sight of Lucie perched on the railing. She’s not the only child up there, which makes me feel a little better, but I wish Gemma would hold her with both hands.

I look across the river and see Mr Hawkston on the other side of the bank. There aren’t many people over there and it’s much less crowded than it is here. He stares right at me, his dark eyes so angry that his gaze scorches; a searing heat on my skin. He glances to the bridge where Lucie sits in the middle.

He gestures toward her, then mouths something at me which looks like ‘what the fuck?’ but I can’t tell for sure. A horrible sensation spirals through my stomach.What was I supposed to do? Wrestle her off her mother?

I begin pushing my way through the crowd again.Better late than never.

A cheer starts up as the boats come into view, far in the distance but moving fast. Everyone jostles to see. My path to the bridge becomes even more difficult, but I keep going, heart racing.

They’re rowing fast. A couple of minutes later and they’re passing beneath the bridge. It takes a few moments before I canmake out the faces, but I see Charlie clearly. In the boat with him are Hugo and Ben.

People are clapping and waving. Their boat draws ahead of the other, just a fraction. The boys are working hard, the strain showing in their jaws and necks, and their bulging biceps.

People roar on either side of me as the other boat catches up again. It goes on like that, the tip of one gaining speed and drawing out front, then the other. They seem evenly matched, and neither team has the edge.

I glance to the opposite bank, where Mr Hawkston is cheering, his hands raised over his head as he claps. He looks more animated, more excited, than I’ve seen him. On the bridge above, Lucie is grinning and screaming, but Gemma is continuing her conversation, barely glancing at either of her children.

As the boats reach the crowd, the boys' faces are wet with sweat. The excitement is unrestrained, and even the primmest looking parents applaud and yell, calling out a chorus of boys’ names. Even I get caught up in the cheering.

I desperately want Charlie to have something to celebrate. He struck me as such a sad soul.

I’m jumping up and down as Charlie’s boat draws ahead, forging faster toward the finish line.

But then all of a sudden, my intuition hits. A voice in my head whispering,Lucie, Lucie, Lucie.

I turn back to the bridge, relief flooding me as I see Lucie’s still there.Safe. But wait… Gemma’s not holding onto her at all anymore. Lucie is unanchored, legs dangling off the bridge, while Gemma is completely absorbed in whatever conversation she’s having with the woman next to her. At a guess, it has nothing to do with the boat race, or Charlie or Lucie.

My gut twists. There is a four-year-old perched on the rail of a wooden bridge, and her mother is definitely not paying attention.

My intuition hits big time, screaming in my skull.Go. Go. Go.

I don’t second guess it. Don’t hesitate. I launch myself towards the bridge, trying to shove my way through the crowd, but everyone’s too excited to pay me any notice. Their attention is fixed on the boats.

“Please, let me through,” I plead, but my voice is drowned out by the cheering. No one is listening to me. They don’t even know I’m here. All my pushing is dismissed as the regular jostling of a crowd high on adrenaline.

Go, go, go, the voice continues.

I begin to sweat, anxiety exploding in my stomach. I haven’t ever felt a call this strong, and I’m powerless to act on it.

“Please, get out of the way.” My voice is louder now, but it’s still not enough. A few people glance in my direction but only for a second before being drawn back to the river, the race.

As I try to force my way through a horde of full grown men in suits, something catches my eye. A movement, adroppingmotion, from the bridge.

I look up, glimpsing Lucie, her bright pink dress a blur, as she plunges into the murky water below.

14

MATT

Asecond before Lucie falls, I know it’s going to happen, almost as if my paranoia willed it to occur. I freeze as her tiny body plummets into the river below.

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