Marcel stooped. It looked to Theresa as though he was about to tie a shoelace. But he flipped a handle in the blank wall.

A hatchway opened.

It led down into a tiny cabin.

Marcel gently slid his arm around Theresa’s waist and edged her to the open hatch.

‘Don’t they say three is a crowd?’

From the threshold Theresa could see that the space was completely filled by a bed.

The bed was strewn with heart-shaped cushions.

‘Now, at last, Theresa,’ whispered Marcel, ‘we are alone together.’

Shock froze Theresa to the spot.

Every inch of the curving, white fibreglass walls of the boat’s hull was decorated with photographs of herself.

‘So many things have transpired to keep us apart, my darling. But, out here, no one can disturb us till dawn, my beautiful, beloved Theresa.’

Sally let the little RIB drift close to the wreckage of the large gin palace.

The wind was whipping her hair around her face, and when she tried to shout the gusts seemed to thrust the words back down her throat.

‘Come down with us, into this boat.’

Chloe was sobbing.

Neil leaned forward to shout down.

‘It’s too scary. What if we slip?’

Sally looked at the remains of The Bitch Got The House and realised it would only take a few more large waves to break the bow completely away from what was left.

Any wave coming in would also knock the two kids back and on to the rocks.

Still astride the seat, Sally stretched out a hand. The rubber edges of her RIB were rubbing along the white walls of the larger boat, squeaking.

‘Come on.’ She tried to sound calm. ‘Come now. One at a time.’

Neil shot Chloe a look, then, holding on to the back of her T-shirt, he edged her forward until she flopped down from the white boat and landed on the inflated side of Sally’s RIB.

‘Now you, Neil.’

Scrambling, face up, on all fours, like a crab, Neil moved downwards, then jumped. In his anxiety to avoid colliding with the people inside the RIB, he missed his footing on the wet rubber, and slipped into the raging water.

Together, Sally and Chloe reached out but he was too far away and being pulled by the swell.

Sally was terrified another wave might slam him back on to the rocks or sweep him out to sea.

She wrenched up one of the emergency oars which were fixed to the sides of the RIB, and thrust it out towards the rocks, resting the paddle end on the top of a crag.

Neil stretched up, clasped it from below with both hands, then inched along, walking his hands forward as though dangling from a rope.

When he reached the rubber side, he let go of the oar and, with Chloe’s help, hauled himself aboard.