When he had come to he’d found himself cradled in Walt’s arms as his brother had sat with his back resting against the wall of rock. Apparently he’d been out of it for nearly an hour and in that time Walt and the others had pulled several more men out of the mountain blocking the road, but none had been alive apart from him. Fred and Pete had gone, along with Cyril Foster whose wife was expecting their first bairn; Ray O’Leary and Archy Shelton, two old timers; and Desmond and Joe Shawe who were father and son. How many were still buried was anyone’s guess; the whole shift could have bought it because the roof was monumentally unstable. In the middle of Walt and the other two trying to dig out more bodies the roof a little way down the tunnel had suddenly caved in too so they were essentially now entombed in a little pocket of the main road with a fall either end stopping rescuers reaching them.

He moved slightly, and immediately Walt said, ‘You all right, man? They’ll be through to us in no time, don’t worry.’

Walt’s breathing was laboured – there wasn’t much air – and for a moment Adam almost said, ‘No time might be about right,’ but that would help no one. Instead he nodded, but even that slight movement of his head brought piercing pain. His whole body from his neck down to his toes felt like it was being stabbed by hot knives.

His voice a whisper, Walt said, ‘You in much pain?’

He wouldn’t have believed the human heart could suffer pain like this and not give up. ‘A bit.’

‘Aw, man. Hold on and once they get through they’ll give you something.’

Walt was saying the right thing but his brother knew as well as he did that he was too smashed up to survive this, and would he want to? He’d seen other miners, one or two young men like him, who’d been involved in accidents and been left in a hell of a state, good for neither man nor beast and a burden on their loved ones. He wouldn’t want that for Olive, or for his bairn to see her da as a thing to pity.