‘You can’t go back in there,’ he said. ‘Look at the place. You’ll be fried, man. We got to go.’

Ollie looked at the church. Blue was right. Smoke was pouring from the door now, thick and black. One of the windows had cracked and flames were stabbing out of it.

Ollie felt a terrible sick feeling of panic chewing at his guts. His head was pounding. Was it too late? He had to do something. The tower? What about the tower? If Daryl had managed to climb down it then maybe Ollie could climb up it.

‘Wait,’ he pleaded with Blue. ‘Just wait, please. I can do it.’

‘Ollie …’

Ollie ignored him, grabbed Ebenezer and pulled him away from the group back towards the church, frantically trying to explain to him what was going on, handing him first his backpack and then his jacket. Thank God Ebenezer got it and when they reached the tower he gave Ollie a leg-up so that he could get a grip on a run of stonework that stuck out about three metres off the ground. Ollie wasn’t sure how he did it (he was running on adrenalin, his mind making choices before he was aware of it), but he pulled himself up and was soon scaling the wall, climbing by feel and instinct, his fingers and toes finding holds where none appeared to be, his fingernails tearing and his fingertips quickly cut and bleeding. At one point he slipped and nearly fell, found himself dangling by one hand, but somehow he located a foothold and carried on up. Luckily the tower wasn’t very tall, only seven or eight metres in all, and he steadily worked his way to the top, Ebenezer shouting to him from below to be careful.

No. He wasn’t being careful. He was in a mad rush again, acting too fast, fuelled by dread and fear. Not for himself. For the girl. In there somewhere. This was not in character for Ollie. He always held back, weighed things up, picked the enemy off from a distance. But not now, when the enemy was time itself. If there was any chance he could save Lettis, he would. Right now she was the most important thing in the world.

Just one …  If he could save just one of them …

But three times today he’d nearly died from being careless.

Not a fourth. There wouldn’t be a fourth time. He’d make it. He’d be OK. He’d save her.

And then his hands were scrabbling over the wall at the top of the tower, getting a grip and pulling his body up and over. He flopped down on to the flagstones, panting and gasping.

That was the easy part.