‘Ambulance,’ he hurled at her, and then with a gulp of air he pressed his mouth down on Oliver’s.

Helen was already running. Up the weed-fringed path to the heavy door with its studding of bolt heads. Mercifully it swung open. The splash of her wet clothes across the pitch-black hall and the corridor to Rose’s kitchen. No time for lights. Remembering where, then reaching out and feeling the cold shape of the payphone in front of her. Her numbed fingers reached for the right slot and she dialled.

‘Emergency. Which service, please?’

Helen gabbled her message and then ran again. The tableau at the tip of the island was almost unchanged. Gerry was sitting with his head in his hands, tears of shock running down his face.

Tom was kneeling, the only sound the sharp gasp of indrawn breath as he sucked in and then blew precious air into Oliver’s motionless chest. Once, only once, he glanced up desperately towards the bridge.

‘They’re coming,’ Helen said. Her face sagged as she spoke. She had seen the dark contusion at Oliver’s temple where his head had struck the stone pier of the bridge.

The seconds dragged into minutes, an infinity of time. Helen knelt on the wet grass with her fists clenched, not daring to move. Gerry smeared the tears from his face and crouched wordlessly beside her. The only sound in the world was Tom blowing into the white lips beneath his.

At last they heard the speeding ambulance and saw the blue light flash on the bridge above them.

‘Thank God,’ Tom said, not looking up from his task.

Helen scrambled to the steps to guide them and they came running, two homely men in blue uniforms with a black bag between them.

A dim hope fluttered inside her.

‘Stand aside, please.’ One of the men put his hand on Tom’s shoulder as he got painfully to his feet. The three of them stood huddled to one side as the rescuers bent to their work.

But as soon as she saw that their attempts to bring Oliver back were grim ritual, Helen knew that it was no use. They seemed so cruelly rough with him, but still he made no flicker of response.

At last, very slowly, one of the ambulance men stood up. He had a round baby face, with spectacles glinting under his peaked cap.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

The lights in Follies House flicked suddenly on and the door swung open. Rose came stumbling across the grass. She was in her nightdress and her bulk wobbled shapelessly beneath it. Her mouth was open to scream but no sound came out. Instead she fell into a heap beside Oliver and started to stroke his face, pushing the matted wet hair back from his temples like a child’s.