Throughout all this drama, Eggy was bent over at the rear of the boat, retching into his top hat.

‘OK, you two. Now we have to get this boat away from those rocks and on to the tide.’ Sally wrenched the other oar free from its clips and handed it to the two kids. ‘Do not let that oar wash away. It’s all we’ve got.’ Still holding on to the first oar, she angled it against the rock. ‘Get yours and do the same as me. OK?’

She looked across. Their oar was touching the rocks.

‘And on a count of three – heave away. Push with all your might!’

The others gripped their oar which now lay parallel to Sally’s.

‘One, two, three – and heave!’

They pushed hard enough to edge the RIB away from the wreckage.

It moved off with the sea, bucking on the waves like a horse at a rodeo.

‘Put the oar inside the boat now. Sit low on the floor and grab hold of those ropes on the side. Huddle up, but – do NOT let go.’

Sally returned to the console.

She prayed that the engine had simply been flooded and that by now it might engage.

A great wave hit them and swept them further out. Another wave followed in its wake and broke on top of them, drenching them all.

The RIB took on a lot of water.

Sally turned the key – a splutter.

She shouted down at Neil. ‘Get the hat off Eggy. Empty it over that side . . .’ she pointed to the leeward side ‘ . . . then use it to collect as much water as you can from the floor of the boat.’

‘Look!’

As Neil turned back to face Eggy, Chloe gasped.

‘The boat we were on . . .’

The wave which had inundated them had scooped up the prow of The Bitch Got The House.

The whole boat was now nothing but a mess of broken white pieces, floating on the waves. Before their eyes the largest remaining portion sank down into the depths. All that was left was the name, bobbing on the water, slamming itself against the rugged crags.

Sally counted to three and once more turned the key.

Theresa pulled away from Marcel.

He had managed to tumble her down on to the duvet. She struggled to sit up. There was no floor to stand on; the entire tiny cabin area was filled with bed. On all fours, Theresa crawled across the heart-shaped cushions, her head scraping the ceiling, trying to reach the little hatchway out.

Marcel grabbed her by the ankle. She was amazed how strong his grip was. She thrashed around like a floundering fish, pulling herself forward inch by inch. His hand moved up under her skirt.

‘I know you love me, Theresa. You let me know all the time, my darling. And when I heard you might go back to London I panicked.’