When he emerged for another bucketful, the tinnie was back.

‘Take the rope,’ Andy said, throwing it badly against the side of the yacht.

Daniel caught it and tied it in two rock-hard half-hitches to the ladder.

‘Fill this and bring it up with you,’ Daniel shouted, bending for another load of water.

James squeezed the trigger of the extinguisher and aimed it right at the blaze rushing out of the tank, but after a couple of pumps the foam gave out. Unimpeded, clusters of burning particles started drifting up through the open hatch on the hot air, and the closest wall was blistering.

He retrieved a towel from the bathroom, now soaked with the water his father had thrown across that end of the room, then gave it a couple of flicks above his head to keep the flames back from the rope ladder.

Like a wave crashing against his back in the surf, water exploded around him. Because his body had taken most of what Dad had blindly thrown into the smoke, it had been ineffective against the fire.

‘Leave it,’ his father shouted, a dark form in the mixture of steam and smoke building in the stairwell, empty bucket dangling in his hand. ‘I don’t think we’re gonna get this out.’

James nodded, but he didn’t follow. He wanted to get Tony’s things.

Daniel took the full bucket from Andy and handed over the empty one, climbed the ladder at the back of the yacht and searched the dark shapes inside the smoke.

‘Jamie!’ he shouted.

Sounds came back to him, but Daniel couldn’t be sure if it was a voice.

‘He coming or what?’ Andy said from the back of the tinnie.

Daniel turned, noticing the bunch of Tony’s charts stowed with him at the far end.

‘I thought he was just behind me. Can you see him anywhere?’ Daniel said, hating the weakness in his voice.

‘That smoke’s not good,’ Andy said, pointing over the back of the yacht to the terrible black clouds that were pumping upwards.

The ridiculous fear wouldn’t let him go. Surely Jamie had just followed him up on deck? Daniel tossed the contents of the bucket into the clouds of steam and smoke.

‘Jamie!’ he shouted, and repeated it a few times, but there was no sign of his son.

When he turned back, Andy was pulling at the knot that held the line.

‘There’ll be fuel onboard. We should just get it free so we can get away fast,’ Andy said.

‘You bloody wait this time!’

Andy nodded, but there was no conviction in it.

‘If we have to, we can ditch over the side at the last minute,’ Daniel said.

‘I can’t swim,’ Andy said.

‘What?’

‘I can’t bloody swim,’ his mate repeated, refusing to look at Daniel, one of his hands now the only thing connecting the tinnie to the yacht.