“The dog, the dog,” Alicia wailed, pointing.

“It’ll be fine,” said her father, clutching her hand tightly. “Dogs can swim.”

“But they’ve forgotten it, they’ve forgotten all about it and it doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“Alicia.” His fingers crushed hers. “They’re looking after their children.”

She didn’t want to watch but not seeing would be worse. The water rose and dragged at their legs, trying to pull them under. The girl stumbled and disappeared. Her brother yanked her to her feet with a wild yell. They were nearly at the end of the cliffs now, just a few feet more and they’d be round the headland and into the shallows and from there they could run to the dunes and take shelter until the tide turned. But the water was heavy and insistent. The dog was swimming now, paddling desperately.

“They’re going to make it,” said her father. “You can do it. You can. Come on, you dozy bastard, man the fuck up and get your family out of there.” She’d never heard him swear before. As if the man in the water had heard, he turned back and grabbed at his wife’s arm. A wave knocked the older son off his feet and his father reached savagely beneath the waves and dragged him out again. Another few steps. A few strokes swum. A wave dragging them backwards. The littlest one’s head dipped beneath the water, then reappeared. Alicia screamed.

And then they were round the headland and into the shallows and they were going to make it, they were definitely going to live, and they fled on crumpled legs and scrabbled into the dunes, marooned but out of the water at least, and her father let out a long breath like a sob and let go of Alicia’s hand. Her fingers were crushed red and white.

“I’ll go down to the café and call the coastguard,” he said, but he didn’t move. Instead he stared at Alicia. Then he crushed her hard against his chest, catching the tender flesh of her nose against a shirt-button. It was the first time she realised that love, unleashed, could be brutal.

“Don’t you ever go down to the caves when the tide’s on the turn,” he whispered. “Promise me, pet. Promise me you won’t ever ever do that. Not ever.”

Her nose hurt so much she had to turn her head. Peering out from beneath his arm, she saw a terrible thing; the small black dot that was the family’s dog, bobbing and paddling in the water, trying and failing to make headway. It vanished beneath the waves, resurfaced, vanished again, resurfaced again, vanished again. She clenched her fists and held her breath, willing it to reappear. But the ocean’s will was stronger.

“I promise,” she said. Her words muffled by his arm. She wriggled free so she could look at him. “I promise, Dad. I won’t ever be like those people. I don’t want to be like that dog.”

“Oh Lord, the bloody dog.” He shaded his eyes and peered out over the clifftop. “I can’t see – look, it probably swam out, okay? Don’t worry. Dogs are smart. They don’t drown. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” He chucked her under the chin. “You’re as white as a sheet, pet.”