That means Safa is the priority. Ben starts working to descend. He twists and rolls to help gravity take over and pull him down more than the wave is lifting him up and the energy he expends in doing so drains him to the core. All he can do is roll and force his body to fall down that wave as he plummets towards her sinking beneath the surface. She doesn’t swim or thrash now but is inert and lifeless as though already a corpse.

Closer but not close enough. Ben drives forwards with legs thrashing and arms going wild while biting down on the mouthpiece. He almost reaches her but the water pulls him away at the last second. He tries again and kicks, swims and fights against the world and all it has to get to that woman, looking strangely serene with her eyes closed as though not even death can taint her.

He reaches again, stretching with wild desperation. His fingertips brush against her buoyancy vest so he thrashes and flails until suddenly she’s in his grip. A violent wrench brings her through the water into his arms. He taps the side of her face, willing her eyes to open while he gags and spits the rubber from his mouth.

‘SAFA,’ he screams out while trying to get one of the bottles from his wrist. ‘You’re okay now . . . you’re okay, Safa . . . you’ll live . . .’ He keeps speaking with gasping, ragged lungs and gets the strap over her face. ‘Open your mouth, Safa . . . it’s Ben . . . open your mouth . . .’ She does. Her mouth opens and he feels a surge of hope that somewhere inside she can hear him. ‘You’re okay . . . bite down now . . . bite down . . . BITE DOWN, SAFA.’

She bites hard, clamping her teeth on the rubber bit. Safa will live. She will not die. He draws her closer and feels her arms reaching up round his neck but her eyes stay closed.

Working to hold her steady he takes a breath and drops beneath the surface to find the rope still attached to her vest. Everything takes so long, fumbling with the knife and finding a way to hold the rope so he can cut it, but eventually he does it and goes back up to suck air in as her face presses close against his.

‘Got to get Harry . . . got to get Harry . . .’ He blurts the words, the wind whipping his voice away. The rain driving down. The waves lifting them together in a sickening motion. He gets the flotation device and pushes it into her hands. ‘Hold this . . . grip it . . . grip it Safa.’ She holds on to his neck, gripping him closer. ‘Not me . . . fuck it.’ He struggles to get the rope from the flotation device round her body and tie it off. ‘You bite down . . . you hear me?’ He shouts the words, willing his words to be heard. ‘They’ll pull you back . . . just hold on and bite down . . .’