A blast of cold damp air whistled over Mark and Annie, like a wraith screeching to freedom; the force blew Annie’s hair off her face. Mark called up the stairs to Georgina. The light from the cellar dappled the floor of the dark tunnel. Annie grabbed up the torch and shone it into the space to find John shakily pulling himself to his feet, using the cold slippery wall to steady himself. Alfred lay unmoving next to him.

Annie rushed to John, who was shivering violently in nothing but boxer shorts and an irretrievably torn shirt, and helped him out of the tunnel while Mark moved to Alfred, whom, Annie saw when she got closer, John had put into the recovery position. Moments later, Georgina rushed down the stairs with two bulging paramedic rucksacks and two thermal foil blankets, one of which she handed straight to Annie, before she disappeared into the tunnel.

“Hot sweet tea is on the way!” Georgina trilled.

“I thought you’d drowned,” Annie whispered, barely holding back sobs. She unwrapped the blanket and draped it around his shoulders; it reached down as far as his ankles. When she had swaddled him as well as any Christmas turkey, she made him sit on the stone stairs, despite his protestations that he had to see if Alfred was okay.

Georgina poked her head around the door. “Sit tight there, John,” said Georgina. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Is Alfred okay?” John asked. His voice was hoarse.

“We’re helping him now,” Georgina replied noncommittally.

Annie pulled the blanket more tightly around him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

John looked at her and tried to smile through chattering teeth. “I’ve probably swallowed more than the recommended daily amount of seawater,” he said, and bent double, coughing hard. Annie sat herself next to him on the cold stone step and rubbed his back.

“You stupid sod!” She half laughed, choking back tears. “Who does that? Who throws themselves into a raging storm like that?”

“Me, apparently,” he replied. “I couldn’t leave him out there to drown.”

“I know,” said Annie quietly. “I know. I can’t decide whether to kiss you or punch you.”

“I think the rocks gave me enough of a beating for one day,” he said.

“I’m coming down with tea!” came Maeve’s voice from above.

She reached them, and Maeve handed a steaming mug to John, who took it with shaking hands.

“Get that down you, boy!” she said.

John did as he was told.

Maeve looked around. “What about Alfred?”

“They’re still treating him,” said Annie.

Maeve was quiet. Annie knew she was worried.

“Right ho,” said Maeve. “I’ll go and fill the troops in. Let me know when you’re done with that one, John, and I’ll make you another.”