‘That’s all very well,’ said Theresa, ‘but we don’t have a number for Falmouth either.’ She shoved her phone back in her pocket. ‘Look. There’s no point standing here and getting cold. We’d be better off going back to my place and making calls on the landline. I’ve got a laptop there too.’

But Cynthia and Roger said they preferred to stay out near to the water’s edge.

Theresa decided that, as she walked home, she would call the general emergency number, 112, in the hope that someone there knew what to do. But just as she started to dial, her phone rang. She answered.

‘Is that Theresa?’ It was a very laid-back English male voice. ‘This is Mervin. The tech guy from Mrs Firbank’s school. Calling from London.’

‘I really can’t talk now, Mervin. There’s an ongoing emergency situation.’

Theresa had no idea why she was suddenly talking like Mervin.

‘I know all about it, Mrs S. That’s why I’m calling you. I just received a message from young Neil. He appears to be in distress. They motored out into the bay on his father’s boat and they turned off the engines thinking they’d stay where they were but, what with wind, tide and all that, they’re running adrift. They seem to have floated out to sea. I called Falmouth coastguard, but when I told them the boat’s name – The Bitch Got The House – they told me to stop messing them about and hung up. So I made a few more calls and found out that you need to call somebody down in the South of France called John Darmarey who’s with the Mary Team.’

‘Who?’

This time Mervin spoke the words together as one phrase.

‘John Darmarey, Mary Team.’

Theresa understood. ‘Thank you, Mervin. I shall phone them.’ She could see how, to an English tech-head, the words Gendarmerie Maritime might sound just like that.

She recalled the name was on a list of emergency numbers hanging in her kitchen on the fridge door.

‘Presumably Mr Muffett can take control of the boat . . .’ Mervin continued. ‘And all will be well.’

Theresa looked over the road at Roger Muffett, who in her opinion looked far from being in control of anything, let alone his own boat. ‘No, Mervin. He’s not on board. The kids took the boat without his permission. Thanks for the info. I’ll just tell his parents, who are frantic. Hold on.’

She ran across to the Muffetts.

‘Neil!’ Cynthia had her phone to her ear. ‘Neil! Pick up the bloody phone.’