So it wasn’t the sort of broken leg with bones poking out. I tried to reach down to touch it, but then another wave of pain came. Not the piercing white icy pain from my ankle but the slow surging fear that pulsed up from the other leg. And it wasn’t that it hurt to move it. I couldn’t. I didn’t know if it was because I was paralysed, or if it was just some deep knowledge I had. A knowledge hidden in the bones themselves, which said “DO NOT MOVE”.

More yapping from Tina. I tried to twist myself so I could look up, catch Kenny’s eye.

But it was darker now. The sky was the colour of the painting water you dip your brushes in at school, the colours all running together to make a swirl of purple‑black.

“Kenny, I’m all right,” I said. “I’m fine. I just need you to do something. I need you to carry on by the stream until you get to the road. And then you’ve got to stop a car and tell them what’s happened. Tell them I’ve fallen down and I need help. They’ll know what to do.”

Well, that’s sort of what I said. It might not have made as much sense, and there was a bit of gasping and groaning mixed in with it, but that was the gist.

It was wasted. There was more frantic barking from Tina, and then I saw something darker moving against the shadows of the cliff.

“Kenny!” I yelled. “Get back! Don’t be an idiot!”

He was trying to climb down. He was a good climber, Kenny. No tree he couldn’t get up. But this was wet rock. Two of us in a heap at the bottom would be seriously bad news.

But Kenny was doing OK. There were hand holds and foot holds in the rock. There were stubby shrubs and bushes growing out of it. Kenny was halfway down, then two thirds down, when one of the bushes sticking out betrayed him. I saw him pull away from the rock face and fall towards me. I thought he was going to land right on me. I thought about the agony that would be to my legs more than I thought about Kenny.

But the climb had taken him a little away from me. He landed with a grunt on his feet and then fell back on his arse.

“Jesus, Kenny, are you OK?” I said.

Kenny sat up and turned to me. He looked sort of funny in his Leeds United hat and scarf.

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “Sore bum. I thought you were … I thought you were badly …”

“I’m all right, Ken,” I said. And then, after a second, I added, “Except my leg. It’s broken, I think. Hurts like buggery.”