“We’re ready now. As soon as you hear the cannon, get over the wall—there’s a stile just beyond Elizabeth if you need it. We’ll have to secure the net around the birds.”

Then he was gone, and apparently whispering the same message to Jerry. She did not have the opportunity to ask if he had seen George.

Nothing happened. It seemed that she had waited for hours with her cheek against the cold, pink rock of the wall. Still her husband had not come from the Wendy House, and still she was convinced that if the cannon was fired there would be a tragedy. If I stand up, she thought, and shout and wave, all the birds will be disturbed. They will rise, like some noisy multi-coloured magic carpet, and then the cannon will not need to be fired. She never knew if she would have had the courage to stand up and expose herself to the others’anger, because the cannon was fired. There was an explosion which echoed around the estuary, the rush of the net and the beating of wings.

“It’s worked!” John shouted triumphantly. “It’s worked. Come on everyone. Over the wall.”

It had worked. It had not backfired, blown up in Nicholas’s face. There were no screams. There was no blood. She felt embarrassment at her foolish anxiety, at the scene she had nearly caused, and an immense relief. She scrambled over the wall. She could see Jasmine Carson and Paul Derbyshire hurrying up from the east. Even they seemed infected by the general excitement. The younger observatory members were already running around the edge of the net, checking that none of the birds had been hurt.

Where is George? she thought. He would enjoy all this. Where is he?

She checked her impulse to join the others, to be a part of the successful operation, and looked back along the width of the island. She began to shout: “ George! George!”

Everything happened very quickly then. She saw George running through the Wendy House garden towards the cliff. He was followed by other men, strangers. There was another explosion. A bright red flare lit the sky. It was pretty as a firework. The other observatory members realized that something was happening, that there was some other drama away from the net. John looked up briefly, but he would not let them go. He was responsible for the birds. He yelled at them to stay where they were until all the birds had been bagged. Molly ran along her side of the wall, through the gap at the end of it, to meet George by the cliff.

Nicholas Mardle was in the water. The tide was on the ebb, and a fierce current had already pulled him north, towards the open sea. He was already opposite the observatory garden. He was struggling desperately, but was making no headway against the relentless pull of the water. He had been wearing wellingtons and a bulky anorak, and his heavy clothes seemed to be dragging him under. George was shouting. It seemed to Molly that he was almost crying with frustration.