The force of the shove propelled the boat steadily outwards towards the shore for a couple of minutes, giving it momentum until it was about halfway through the tentacles, but then it slowed quickly to a mere bobbing drift. On the deck Soldier John, Stinky and Dr Jones crouched, motionless, each staring nervously at the water below them.

We couldn’t see what they could see, but to us the tentacles seemed barely interested in the boat. The shorter fronds stroked it half-heartedly as it passed over them, like they do with driftwood and other debris, and the longer tentacles almost ignored it completely, pausing only to give it a passing feel as they flailed back and forth in their ordinary fashion.

I moved my feet slowly, sinking them into the mesoglea and trying to feel if there was anything different, if the Jellyfish could tell. But there was nothing. There was that gentle, calm, humming motion within the jelly, and the soft, occasional surges as bigger waves hit.

Next to me, Kate gave a couple of sniffs, then wiped her nose on her arm. She pulled her knees up and rested her forehead on them.

‘Should we do something? Something distracting?’ I said it loud enough for everybody to hear, but also not that loud, because I didn’t know whether it was best to be quiet, or whether we should be making noise.

None of the adults moved or responded. Some people were watching the boat intently, but others were just staring into the distance or, like Kate, had their eyes shut altogether.

‘We’ve still got this knife,’ said James. ‘Shall I cut your hair?’

‘I suppose so.’

The boat was already at the stage now where we wouldn’t be able to save its passengers if the tentacles decided to hit it. If the Jellyfish chose to just lift Soldier John and the others out, whipping them back on board with us, then that would be fine of course. But I didn’t think that was the way the creature was working any more. I didn’t think it would just kindly prevent them leaving, in its old, annoying way; I was fairly sure it would do something else, something that meant more dark shapes beneath us in that jelly.

For a minute I wondered why there were no kriks visible, and exactly where they went when they left the shore. The thought made my stomach clench, which added to the tightness in my throat and the tense beating in my forehead.

‘What sort of style would you like?’ said James.

‘What sort of thing can you do?’

‘Beautiful ringlets, carefully blow-dried and shampooed in a scented shop with soft music playing and a cup of tea. I could also dye it, perhaps with little strips of different colours and then some ribbons and stuff in it. And maybe glitter?’