How long would it take them? How long could I hold on? I started edging back into the gap above the ledge. A splintering noise, and I froze as a big willow branch swept past in the current, crashing and grinding against the rocks. A foot closer, and it would have scraped us off into the torrent.

I jammed my shoulder into the crack, and snatched at Tipene’s belt. I was half-leaning, half-kneeling; it must have looked like I’d got him in some weird rugby tackle. He stirred once more, made a grunting sound.

‘Hang on!’ I panted. ‘Someone’s coming. Hang on!’ He seemed to hear, half-lifted a hand to grip me, then flopped again.

Dad had disappeared. He must be on the bridge now, rushing towards us. Or had the bridge been smashed by that flood surge ripping through? No, it mustn’t. It had to be there still, or else we’d — we’d die.

Movement in the paddock. Three more people hurrying through the farmhouse gate and across towards the stile. Mum and Auntie Whina. And Finola, swerving past the others. Grandad Duncan limped after them.

I shut my eyes; tried to hold Tipene even harder, began counting to myself. One … two. A swell of water burst onto us. Five … six. My arms and shoulders stabbed with agony. Ten … eleven. I couldn’t hold on any longer.

‘Alan!’ My father’s voice, right above me. ‘Alan!’ He crouched on the bank where we’d climbed down just ten minutes before, his face white and tense.

‘Tipene’s — hurt,’ I grunted. Dad didn’t move for a second, then he snatched at something beside him. Our oilskins. He began knotting the sleeve of mine onto one of Tipene’s ‘Hold on!’ He tore off his own coat, knotted it to my friend’s.

‘I’ll drop this down. Can you tie it into his belt?’

My jaw had begun to shudder so much, I couldn’t speak. I jerked my head. The crazy oilskin rope swung down, landed across my shoulders. Tipene shifted; mumbled something.

‘Dad’s here.’ My voice wobbled. ‘We’re going to pull you up.’

I seized the free end of the oilskins. Only my legs and body stopped Tipene from sliding into the water sweeping around my ankles. My numb fingers pushed at the stiff waterproof cloth, trying to stuff it under his belt. It wouldn’t go. I yelled ‘Come on!’, shoved so hard I almost lost my balance, and it slipped through. I fumbled and yanked; tied it into a double knot. My friend was starting to slide down; his legs made scrabbling movements.

Someone else had arrived on the bank. Finola, wet hair all over her face, mouth open. Just as well it’s one of her days off, eh? my mind told me, helpfully. She and Dad gripped the other end of the oilskin rope.