The sea was thunderous. They walked out along the pier. Midway it became dangerous to go any further because the sea every few seconds was breaking across it. They stood watching the seas meeting. Then Jack suddenly, during a lull in the mountainous waves, ran to the far side. He called to her to follow him. But she couldn’t hear him. He waved her over. Come on! Come on! But she was too afraid to follow him. So he ran back to her. He took her arm. Count three, he said. The waves leapt the pier again. No, she screamed. Then he pulled her across with him. They continued on to the end of the wet pier with the sea breaking behind them, and each side of them. She slipped and fell. Roughly, he picked her up. She held on to him. They could not see anything. The mist was intense and moist. They stood holding the bollards at the farthest point of the pier while the wind tore at them.

She put her hand under his jacket and held him.

“We must stop drinking,” she cried to him. “Every time we drink something awful happens.”

“I am afraid that if we really start fighting one or other of us could get killed,” he shouted.

“No,” she shouted, “we’d never go that far.”

“It happens.”

“No,” she shouted. “Something would stop us. Something always does.”

“I can’t take any more arguments.”

“You can fight dirty when you want to.”

“I should leave,” he roared, “this is all wrong. Something awful might happen.”

“Nothing will,” said Catherine and she hugged him. “It’s over now Jack. We’re all right.”

They found that the interval between the waves washing the pier had lessened. There hardly seemed time to get through.

“We’re stuck,” she screamed.

He counted the washes. Then suddenly she ran ahead of him. He followed her. They walked together through the dense fog, taking their steps carefully, hand in hand. The fog stuck to them. Their coats and hair were white.

When they arrived back from the shore they were wearing white coats of mist.

They lit the fire and started drinking again.

“I’m heartbroken,” he said.

He started to go rigid. Then he left her there. He fell asleep in the study. Hours later Catherine suddenly appeared like a spectre in the room.

“You bastard,” she whispered into his ear.

Jack woke bewildered.

He followed her back out. She had finished all the drink and was sitting by the burnt-out fire. A bruise had risen on her forehead.

“Do you see what you did to me?” she shouted.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You are a drunk,” she said quietly, “do you know that? You are a fucking alcoholic.” He returned to the study.