Then from the mouth of the river, a huge tidal wave, blown in from the sea, came rolling up towards them, sluicing on to the banks on either side, sweeping aside all that lay in its path. Esther felt herself lifted from her feet and carried by Mr Harris away from the bank, and only when they were against the shelter of the cottage and Ma Harris too had taken hold of her, did they turn to look back.

They stood in a petrified trio, Esther in the centre with Ma Harris and her husband on either side. They clung together watching the bizarre and awful scene played out before their eyes. The wave came nearer and nearer, yet Beth would not relinquish her hold upon the rope of the gangway, and Robert Eland would not leave her.

The horrified watchers saw Matthew appear at the side of the boat above the gangway. Seeing them below, he seemed about to step over the side to come down. But in that split second he must have become aware of the surge of water bearing down upon him for he half-turned, looked down river and was stilled. His hands resting on the side of the boat, he was motionless. He looked down just once – at Beth. He had time only to raise his hand as if in final farewell, before the wave crashed against the boat, lifting it like a cork, tearing it from its mooring and wrenching away half the landing stage with it. For a timeless moment, the boat seemed suspended above them, and then with slow finality it rolled over on its side into the river.

They saw Matthew flung backwards, saw his arms flail wildly and then he and the boat plunged beneath the torrent, sending huge waves washing on to the shore, bowling Beth and Robert Eland over and over on the river bank.

The waters subsided and drained back into the river as the wave, lessening with each yard it travelled, rolled on up the river. Then Esther saw the two of them – Robert with his arms still locked around Beth – lying on the ground.

The Harrises and Esther struggled towards them. As they did so, with a cruel irony the wind dropped suddenly. Now they could hear another dreadful sound.

The sound of Beth’s shrill screaming that went on and on and on . . .

Forty-one

MATTHEW’S body was washed up three days later, ironically on the place which Esther had called her own; the place where so often she had found comfort in her solitude and yet the place where she too had almost lost her life – the end of the Spit.

The storm had blown itself out. It had calmed almost at once after the tragedy, as if it had exhausted its cruelty and was appeased.