He snapped his head forward and down, hard, and heard the loud crunch, at the same time feeling the pain as he smashed into the bridge of her nose. She yelped, loosening her grip. Seizing the instant, he pushed up and sideways, again with everything he had.

He heard a choked yelp of surprise as her weight was suddenly gone from his chest. A split-second later he felt a vice-like grip on his ankles and a terrific weight.

Pulling him sideways and down.

Shit. He was right on the edge. She’d gone over, he realized, and was hanging onto his legs. Her weight pulling him steadily over, too.

He tried to lash out with his feet, but her grip was too tight.

‘Help me!’ she yelled, her voice stricken with terror. ‘God help me!’

Glenn’s hands struggled for a purchase on the sodden grass. But they were sliding, gripping at tufts that tore away. His whole body was sliding towards the edge. Closer.

He was in agony all down his chest, and he tasted blood in his mouth. ‘Roy!’ he yelled in desperation, the wind whipping away his voice. Sliding further. And suddenly there was no longer any ground beneath his bum. He grabbed frantically at larger clumps of grass which instantly ripped free in his hands. Then he touched something hard, solid, with his right hand – a rock – and gripped it tightly. For a few agonizing seconds, his chest feeling like it was being ripped in half, it stopped his slide. Then, to his terror, he was losing his grip and he slid forward again, the woman’s deadweight still hanging from his ankles.

He would be completely over the edge in seconds now. He could feel the bottom, way below, drawing him, reeling him in.

I’m going over, I’m going to die.

It was no good, he couldn’t fight it any more.

He would go over the edge and the 500-foot sheer drop. To oblivion.

‘ROY!’ he screamed in his last gasp of desperation. On the very verge of plunging. ‘ROYYYYY!’

Then hands clamped on his wrists, trapping his scream in his throat.

Grace’s voice shouted, ‘I’m here, mate, I’m here. I’ve got you.’

‘Help me!’

Branson’s body, hanging from his arms, swung backwards into the hard edge of the cliff face with a jarring crash and he screamed with pain. The woman still hanging on his ankles, the weight was stretching him out. Racking him and yanking his rib cage down as agony tore through his torso. He could feel her hands slipping. On his boots now.

Roy Grace lay on his stomach, half blinded by the wind and stinging rain, holding on to Branson’s slippery wrists. But the weight was getting too much for him. His arms were being pulled out of their sockets. The massive weight was pulling him steadily forward towards the edge.

Trying desperately to think what he could do, he kicked the toes of his shoes hard into the soft soil, getting a momentary purchase before they were dragged free. Then they stopped against something hard and solid – a rock or a stone. He kicked his toes again hard into the soil, trying desperately to dig in deeper and get a better grip. His feet held, but the strain on his arms was getting too much.