What is he doing? My hands gripped the bramble branches in front of me, the thorns pricking my fingers. When he reached the top of the pole, he took something out of his pocket and reached up towards the wire. The black cable suddenly dropped – it swung down like a trapeze wire, and was lost in the hedgerow.

Michael Baron had cut the telephone line.

It felt as if the cliffs were trembling beneath my feet, but then I realized that it wasn’t the ground that was shaking – it was me.

This wasn’t real life at all – how could it be? The dull, pewter light made it all the more surreal: clouds filled the whole sky now – brooding above me. Michael Baron made his way down the telegraph pole and starting striding back across the field. He’s coming this way, I thought, but there wasn’t time for me to run to the cottage or the lighthouse – he would see me. The only thing I could do was hide myself more deeply in the hedge. I tucked down into a ball and burrowed backwards, ignoring the thorns digging into my back and neck. My folded-up legs were still shaking and I had to put my scratched hands flat on the ground to stop myself from toppling over. I couldn’t see anything now except the patch of ground in front of me. I heard Michael approaching. A gull screamed overhead. There was a scuffling noise and then a thud as Michael climbed over the fence and jumped down just a few feet away from me. Then I heard his footsteps making for the path leading to the south cliff.

I followed him.

Looking back, it was such a stupid thing to do. I should have gone straight to the police station and told them what I had just seen: an act of sabotage. And what exactly did that make our headmistress’s handsome son? A collaborator, a fifth columnist? These were words I had heard on the wireless or seen in the newspaper, but they were suddenly as real as the rock beneath my feet. This was an act that could only help the enemy. What else had he done? And where was he going now?