The crowd were talking, exchanging information, and it was clear within moments of joining them that a child had been pulled under and out to sea. My stomach turned over as I saw the figure struggling and I felt the warm rise of bile in my throat.

‘It’s a boy. The man’s got him,’ Edie said. We watched the lifeguard hook his arm under the boy’s shoulders and swim back to shore, his free arm powering through the waves. ‘I don’t think he’s moving.’ The thrill in her voice grated. Her eyes shone and she reached for my hand with excitement.

The lifeguard was buffeted left and right as he scrambled out of the break. In his arms was the boy. The child was around nine or ten. His head lolled backwards. Arms hung limp. There was sand stuck to his body, which was white and dipped blue with cold.

‘Stand back!’ a man’s voice shouted. ‘Give them space for God’s sake!’

Edie pulled me forward, pushing us through the crowd until we reached the front of the semicircle which had surrounded the spectacle. Men and women clutched each other, hands over mouths, eyes fixed on the boy as he was laid down on the sand. The lifeguard’s face was contorted with worry. He flapped his hand angrily in the hope of people moving back. If anything they seemed to inch closer. Someone behind me asked whoever they were with what the hell the parents were thinking to let such a small boy out of their sight for a second.

‘Hush,’ said another voice. ‘It could happen to anyone.’

‘He’s dead.’ Edie made no effort to lower her voice and right then I wished I wasn’t standing anywhere near her. ‘You can tell. Look. He’s definitely dead. His lips are purple and there’s seaweed in his mouth.’

The small boy was motionless. His hair was wet, plastered over his cheeks and eyes. I pictured his lungs filled with salt-sharpened water, no more room for air, tiny particles of sand floating around in them like astronauts in space. I tore my eyes off him and looked out over the waves, searched the sea for my father. We were only a mile or so from where he died. I imagined how he had fought to keep afloat. Shouted for help. How his head had disappeared beneath the surface before the waves closed over him. My body collapsed from the inside, the horror of what was unfurling on the beach dredging up every memory associated with losing my dad to the sea. I wanted to turn away but I was held rigid by fear and agonising grief, my eyes wide, bolted to the lifeless figure of the child.

Be alive. Please, please be alive.