“I think I’ve found something. Was Deb wearing white trainers?”
“Yeah? Maybe? I can’t remember”
“Because I’m in the river and I think I’ve found one of Deb’s shoes. It is possible she may have drowned?”
“What?”
“Well, in films, when you find someone’s shoe on a riverbank, it’s usually because they’re dead.”
“Maybe she just kicked them off and went for a dip to cool off.”
“Where’s the other shoe, then?”
On her corpse obviously, according to my overactive imagination.
“Send me picture of the shoe, maybe. I’m sure it’s fine, Rodney”
I look down at the photo Rodney sent over to me “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” I hit dial.
“Hello, Rodney speaking! How can I help?”
“What? Rodney, it’s Dylan. That shoe. It’s a man’s shoe. Obviously. What size does it say on the bottom?”
“Eleven. Oh! Does Deb have very big feet?”
“No, Rodney, she doesn’t.”
“Great! It’s someone else who must’ve drowned, then. I’ll get out of the river, in that case.”
“You’re… in the river? Actually in it”
“I’m trawling! For bodies! No need now though, if it isn’t Deb”
“Ok. Thanks, Rodney. Keep at it.”
―
Beth O'Leary,
The Road Trip