Even though they would probably be killed before they found the boat, even though the boat itself could then be tracked easily enough, even though the chance of escape from all this was laughable … she was going to try.

For Rosie.

She was a tiny cog in a big mechanism, but sometimes tiny cogs could make a difference, couldn’t they? A small wrong move from one of them could wreck the whole damn machine.

Chapter 58

Vivian stood on the clifftop, lighthouse-bright with the sheer force of her rage.

It was morning. She cursed the waves below her, stupid frothy things that were to blame because they had gnawed at the land in the first place and eventually chewed off that chunk of island. She cursed the island for not having more staying power, for not clinging on to the mainland with all of its might – for allowing itself to be eaten away.

She was cold, and her feet ached. It was intolerable: the standing, the uncertainty, the sense that she had got stuck somehow and she couldn’t work out how to free herself. Was this what old and out-of-date felt like? Standing on a cliff edge knowing something important was going on around you but with no way to get to it?

Footsteps sounded behind her.

‘Here.’ Alastair shoved the flask at her. ‘Coffee. The good stuff, not instant.’

‘I thought meals weren’t provided?’

‘Ain’t a meal. It’s coffee.’

Vivian was grateful for it. Alastair helped her pour and she sipped as she considered him. She couldn’t be sure but there were definitely fewer ragged edges to his clothes today and he’d tried shaving. Unsuccessfully.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, Alastair.’ Vivian sighed. ‘Absolutely nothing. I’m not waiting for anything because nothing is coming. I couldn’t find a boat. And anyway, if I had, what was I going to do? I’m nearly seventy. Did I think I could ride in, a geriatric in a rowboat, and save the day?’

She stared at the island. ‘What is happening to her over there? What are they doing? You see the smoke, don’t you? You heard that sound?’

Alastair nodded. They both watched the smudge of grey as it funnelled down to a point hidden by the island’s hills.

‘This is like one of those awful anxiety dreams you get when you’re a parent. You have to get to your child but you can’t, no matter how hard you try, or how many roads you go down, and then you wake up in a cold sweat, relieved it was all a dream. Except I’ve been trying to wake up for bloody days.’

He poured her another cup of coffee; the wind was getting in through the gaps of her coat and making her shiver.

‘I’ve summoned the troops of course.’

‘Army?’ He frowned.