I can’t hold you, mate, I can’t hold you, he thought, his brain racing, his arms agony. His clutch was starting to weaken.

‘ROYYYYY! HELP ME!’ Branson screamed again. Then, suddenly, he felt the weight drop from his ankles. It was accompanied by a faint cry. Then just the wind.

Instantly, to Grace’s relief, Branson felt lighter. He was no longer sliding forward. Looking down into darkness, at the silhouette of Branson’s head, smelling the fear in his perspiration, he was now having to hold just his deadweight. But, even so, his hold was still slipping. His right hand felt Branson’s massive palm.

‘Grip me with your fingers, interlock them!’ he yelled down.

And, to his relief, felt Branson’s strong fingers entwining with his own.

‘Get me out of here, Roy, oh God, please don’t let me fall,’ he pleaded.

‘I’m not letting you fall. Just keep holding on!’ he gasped, trying with everything he had to lift Branson up, but he couldn’t even manage a few inches.

And now the stone he had his feet jammed against was starting to move, to lift out of the ground.

Oh Jesus. Glenn, his mate – his best friend in the world – he was holding his life in his hands. Somehow, he had to save him, he couldn’t let him fall to his death. Had to do something. But his strength was sapping with every second. He was weakening.

‘Stay calm!’ he yelled down. ‘Stop wriggling, you’re pulling me over.’

‘Roy, I can’t hold on much longer, my arms are going.’

The stone was moving more and more. Any second it would come out of the ground and—

Grace could feel the grip on his fingers slackening. Slipping. Was this how it was going to end? No way could he let him die. His mind was a chaos of thoughts. He dug his toes in again, digging, digging, digging in desperation.

‘I can’t hold on!’ Branson called, his voice sounding weak. ‘I’m going, mate.’

‘You fucking hold on!’ Grace yelled back.

‘Tell Siobhan and the kids I love them?’

‘You tell them yourself!’

‘I mean it. I’m going. I’m going.’

The fingers were letting go. Grace stopped them, clenching his hands even tighter. Seconds from having to make the decision whether to go over with Glenn or release him.

He kept on gripping his hands. Somehow. His arms felt as if they would rip free of their sockets at any second. Christ, if he didn’t let go he was going to fall with him.

Then a shout.

Voices behind him. And, suddenly, bright lights flashing all around.

Strong hands were gripping Grace’s ankles. Pulling him backwards, as he still gripped Branson’s hands, but Branson’s deadweight had suddenly lessened.

‘You can let go, sir!’ a female voice said. It was Sharon Orman. ‘Mark and the others have Glenn. I’m going to help them.’

‘He’s coming back up,’ Taylor shouted. ‘We’ve got him!’

‘Shit, you’re a heavy bastard!’ Smudger grunted as they dragged Branson safely back onto the grass.