‘Okay. Don’t get wet!’

Gillard gave his wife a sarcastic look as he pulled up his jacket hood, opened the door and stepped out into the deluge. Numerous car alarms sounded in the distance as he made his way along the edge of the lane past the traffic lights and onto the narrow footway over the bridge.

The first view of the water staggered him.

Normally this was a beautiful riverside scene, with pastures on either side and the Jolly Boatman pub at the far end of the bridge. Now the pub car park was a lake, the riverside decking submerged, most of the picnic tables floating in a leisurely circle. The Wey itself was four times its normal width and sweeping debris of all sorts towards the bridge.

It was only when Gillard spotted the first floating car that he realised how serious this was. A black BMW saloon, its rear above the water, four-way flashers and alarm still going, swept along the nearside bank of the river, bashing into the lower branches of riverside trees. Further across, the bridge itself was under siege. Peering over the parapet, he saw the water level was within a few inches of the top of the arches. A large uprooted tree had wedged itself underneath the central span, with a thick bough arching over the bridge, blocking access to traffic from both directions. A small crowd had gathered on the left-hand side of the bridge, looking over into the water at the base of the tree. From the shouting and gesticulation he could tell something serious was going on. As he joined them, Gillard could see there were two more cars in the water. One, a small Peugeot saloon, was being rammed repeatedly underneath the central arch of the bridge, next to the tree. Its roof and crazed windscreen were already partially flattened, but there was a waving arm protruding from the driver-side window. A second, larger vehicle was rolling over and over laterally against the next arch towards the Lacey Dutton side. A young man in soaked jeans and T-shirt was trying to climb down the bough of the tree to reach the occupied car, but the tree was rolling left and right in the water threatening to throw him off.

The policeman knew what he had to do. He ran back to the RAV4 and pulled open the driver-side door. ‘Sam, there is someone trapped in a car in the river. We need the ropes, helmets and head torches right away.’ He went round to the hatchback, pulled it open and grabbed the equipment he needed. When Sam joined him, he placed a yellow helmet and head torch on her already-drenched hair. Without hesitation she shrugged on her jacket, fixed the helmet strap, and looked up at him. The rain had already made her eye make-up run down her face in long streaks, but determination was set there. He gave her a very quick hug, and kissed her damp face.