“Should we split up?” Annie called. The violence of the storm was stealing her breath.

“No!” John replied. “We need to stick together. We can’t risk one of us getting into trouble.”

Annie gave a thumbs-up, and they began to tramp along the middle strip of beach between the howling sea and the edge of the promenade, Annie shining her torch against the undercurve of the prom while John cast sweeping motions with his, out across the beach. Unease writhed in Annie’s stomach. She hoped Alfred wasn’t here, hoped he had simply taken himself off to the city; she would rather he was sheltering in a doorway somewhere, relying on the kindness of strangers, than here on this beach, or worse, trapped in the cave, or worse still . . . She couldn’t finish the thought. She looked out toward the cave and as she did so the moon appeared from behind a cloud and briefly lit the water. Something bobbing on the waves caught her eye. Her stomach dropped.

“What’s that?” she called, pointing with her torch to where something was being tossed back and forth among the waves.

John followed her torchlight and added his. They made their way as close as they dared to the edge of the shore, the rolling army of waves beating them back with a volley-fire attack, the spray alone soaking them through. The torchlight picked out the eerie glow of orange fluorescent stripes. There was no mistaking it; it was Alfred’s rucksack.

Chapter 80

Annie’s breath caught in her throat and froze her to the spot; she didn’t notice the foamy water running over her wellingtons. John began to yell Alfred’s name, but the ocean’s answering bellows drowned his shouts. And then she saw, out by the entrance to the rocky cove, unmistakably, an arm waving. Alfred was clinging tenuously onto a rock, the waves crashing relentlessly over his head.

“Alfred!” Annie hollered.

John followed the line of the torch and swore. At that moment, a terrific wave loosened Alfred’s grip, and they watched helplessly as the water overcame him. Annie screamed in horror. Maeve and Gemma came running back along the promenade. Alfred bobbed back up, his arms fighting against the waves in some attempt at swimming. John tore his coat off and yanked off his boots, throwing them back up the beach.

“Call the coast guard and an ambulance,” he shouted, kicking off his jeans and hurling them back toward the rest of his things.

“What the hell?” Annie shouted. “You can’t go in after him. John, stop for a minute! Stop! John!”

John wasn’t listening. He began to wade out into the sea; Annie grabbed his arm, but he shook her off and in another second he had thrown himself into the water and was swimming against the waves.