Chapter ElevenFelix is still sitting, shivering, on the balcony when Michael finds him. It seems only seconds since they spoke on the phone. They go inside together, and he changes into a dry set of clothes while Michael makes them both a drink. He isn’t sure whether drinking is a good idea or not, but he takes the glass anyway. Michael is only trying to help.
He knows he is warm again, and dry, because the glass feels cold in his hand. It is black with cola, and smells of rum. The first sip makes him wince. So does the second. By the third sip, he is not thinking about the taste, or anything at all except the night Harriet drowned. He takes a seat beside Michael on the sofa.
“Come on, then,” says Michael, lifting his glass to his lips, “what’s brought this on?”
“I went to church.”
Mic
