I hadn’t, so I didn’t add anything to my point. But it was a strategic move, because it meant that if they failed to rescue us, then I could glory in having been the first to complain about it. I wasn’t the only one, though. ‘Don’t like it,’ Old Albert was muttering. ‘Don’t like it at all. Nothing good’ll come of it, you mark my words.’

The blue-haired woman gave a hand signal. But she kept her binoculars up. On the shore the team looked at each other, and had a quick chat. Then two of the men ran over to some of the boats which had been washed up in a high tide. They started pushing them into the water.

‘That’s it?’ said Lana. ‘Bollocks to them, then.’

Around us there were mutters of disgust and anger.

Three boats were pushed towards us before the fighting team gave us a final wave and ran back up Long Street.

‘They could at least have pushed in the good boats,’ said James. They’d pushed in the three closest ones, but had ignored our favourites: the yacht with what looked like an intact sail, and the red one, which we liked because, well, it was red.

Kate gave a big sigh.

‘Do you think it’ll be worse being stuck here knowing that they’re out there?’ I said. ‘You know, worse than it was yesterday, when we thought there was nobody else alive?’

‘I never thought we were the only ones left alive,’ said Kate. ‘Did you really think that? How horrible.’

‘No, I suppose I didn’t think that. I suppose I thought that anybody who was left alive must be having a much worse time than us, and that they must just be being killed slowly on land. Because otherwise they’d have come to rescue us, wouldn’t they? Kriks must be there – inland too, not just on the coast, because they go away somewhere and then come back, don’t they? So, you know, I thought everybody might as well be dead.’

‘Brutal, Martha!’ said James. ‘That’s cold.’

‘Yeah? Maybe, but it looks like it is pretty brutal out there, so at least I’m being realistic. What are you spending all your time thinking about? How lovely the world is and how great it is to live here on this wind-exposed hellhole?’

‘That’s really unfair, Martha. I don’t see much evidence of brilliant things going on in your head,’ said James.

‘Or any evidence,’ said Lana.

‘What are you joining in for?’ I said, turning to her. She was scowling and still kicking at the mesoglea. ‘You always have to be at the centre of everything. Especially if it involves being mean. This has got nothing to do with you, it’s just me and James.’

‘You wish it was just you and James.’