Page 101 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

The sound of the bullfrogs woke her.

Dominic was already awake and standing on the far side of the room getting dressed. She could see his muscular tanned back, and wished she was close enough to touch it.

Yawning, she wondered how tired he was. She herself had woken at various points in the night and she could tell he had been awake. The first time she had rolled towards him and put her arm across his chest, at which he had given a barely audible sigh of satisfaction. The other times she had left him with his thoughts.

Miguel’s wife made them some breakfast – a version of what they had eaten the night before – and at nine o’clock they set off, Dominic, Rosamund and the guide in one small boat, Willem, Miguel and their two porters in the other. Ros’s water bottle was strapped across her body – Dominic had given it to her that morning, reminding her that more people died from dehydration in the jungle than from poisoned darts.

The engines of the boats were not powerful, and progress was slow. She dipped her hand into the brown water to cool down, but Dominic pulled her back immediately, warning her of carnivorous fish.

Watching the turtles scramble across the riverbanks, Ros could understand why this sort of adventure was so seductive. It was like another world. Ignore the heat and the humidity and it was as if they had been dropped in Paradise.

A bird circled overheard. It was large, black, with a broad wingspan and a thick, vicious squawk. She knew from her research at the RCI and the Royal Geographical Society that the Amazon rainforest was home to some of the most brightly coloured birds on earth: macaws in shades of hyacinth and scarlet, toucans, and turquoise-hued cotingas. But this wasn’t one of them. She remembered a story she had read about the evil bird that lived in the jungle and sang on the rooftop of someone who was going to die, and as she watched it fly wide, low circles above them, it made her shudder.

The tribal settlement was only a few miles from the edge of Kutuba, but it was slow going reaching it. This was still officially the edge of the jungle, but the vegetation was dense, and thick vines and branches dangled over the boat, scratching their arms and faces.

They steered the boats towards the riverbank and clambered on to shore, pulling the equipment and medical supplies away from the water.

Padre, the tribal chief, was waiting for them in a clearing, smoking a cigarette.

‘We’ll make camp here tonight,’ announced Dominic. ‘Amando will stay,’ he said, gesturing to one of the porters.

‘What about me?’ asked Ros.

His look softened. ‘You should go back with Miguel.’

The reality of what was happening started to suffocate her. It was as if the jungle was closing in around her.

Miguel had his hands on his hips. He looked up to the sky and announced that they should go within the next half an hour. One of the guides nodded.

Ros watched the scene unfold around her. Willem took some photographs. Miguel, Dominic and Padre conversed in rudimentary language.

She waited until Dominic was alone, then went over to talk to him.

‘Don’t go,’ she said.

‘Ros, please.’

‘I mean it. It doesn’t feel right.’

Miguel was clapping his hands.

‘It is time. Rosamund. Please, in the boat.’

Amando was already chopping leaves and branches from the surrounding trees to build a fire and a shelter for the night.

The crow was still overhead, Ros wasn’t sure where, but she could hear it, and the angry squawks now felt like a warning.

‘Don’t go,’ she said more urgently. ‘I just have a bad feeling.’

‘Ros, don’t. You’re not helping.’

She took hold of his hands and squeezed them.

‘Dom, it’s not too late to say no. The power of words, you talked about it at our engagement party. Just stop this now, please. You can stop all this in thirty seconds.’

‘I know you’re scared. I’m nervous too, but I’ve done this before. I’m taking a radio . . .’

‘It doesn’t feel enough. I don’t know why the guides can’t stay with you for the entire trip. Take one of them with you, it’s not too late. One of Padre’s men. They know the jungle better than you. Better than anyone.’