At this point, the placing of his shoes becomes extremely important. It is his final act as a human being and it needs to be right. A fleeting obsession is born. A myriad of thoughts flood his mind about what each adjustment will mean later. For a second he even considers putting the note inside one of the shoes but then worries someone might steal the shoes.

‘God’s sake,’ he says under his breath, standing upright to smooth his dark hair flat against his skull with trembling hands. He glances back down at the shoes, frowning as he fights the impulse to stay and make more adjustments.

He gives a determined nod and stiffens his resolve. He is British. He will go with dignity and a stiff upper lip. The first step is firm and solid. A man taking control back. A man forging ahead to make his own future, albeit a very limited one.

The short journey across the soft sand seems to take hours but then, as with all things, it is over and as his left foot slides into the cool water of the ocean so the tear falls from his eye to roll fat down his cheek. His lips tremble. His legs start to weaken. A shiver runs up his back. His mind whirls frantic and desperate. His vision closes in. His heart thunders. His breathing becomes short, shallow and close to hyperventilating.

Onwards he walks deeper into the sea until the first splashes hit his knees, his thighs, his groin, his stomach, and for each one so the tears run faster, thicker, and he whimpers soft and terrified. For his family he will do this. For their sake he must do this.

‘Don’t go.’

The voice is jarring in the silence of the beach. Sparking a guilty reaction in Roland, who turns quickly in the chest-high water to stare at the lone figure on the beach, bathed in blue from a shimmering, iridescent square of light.

‘Is it you?’ the man calls out in a voice choking with emotion. A stranger but something familiar about him, the voice and the way he is standing.

‘Do I know you?’ Roland asks, his eyes flicking between the strange light and the man.

‘It’s me . . .’ the man says, gulping to swallow his sobs.

‘I . . . I don’t know you,’ Roland stammers while his brain screams for the connection to be made.

‘I need your help.’ The man’s voice breaks as he walks fully clothed into the sea towards Roland. ‘It went wrong . . . I . . . I broke it . . .’

‘I don’t know you, go away,’ Roland says, stepping back deeper into the water in alarm, but there is something about the man. Something about the voice and the way he walks. The plaintive tone. The emotion. All of it is jarringly familiar.

‘I broke it . . . I . . . don’t go . . . please, don’t go . . .’