Twenty minutes later, the small living area of the Fishergirl’s Luck was crammed with people. David dragged the coffee table out of the way and Terry pushed the armchairs back, leaving enough space on the floor for those without seats to sit. Anna tried to organize the supplies. There were multiple loaves of bread and bags of muesli from Pat’s B&B stores, packs of ham, cheese and butter, punnets of tomatoes, cans and cans of soup. Pat and Susan had also thought to bring as many toilet rolls as they could, as well as warm wool blankets and candles.

‘What will happen?’ Anna asked, as they all sat drinking tea and listening to the intermittent rumble of the cliff. They had made a pact not to look outside. After all, there was nowhere else they could go, no matter what they saw. ‘I mean – how long do you think it’ll take for anyone to realize we’re trapped?’

‘I think it’ll be down to Old Robbie,’ Terry said. ‘He’s the only person we know is going to try to get down that road any time soon. He’ll see that it’s out and raise the alarm.’

‘But then what?’ Pat asked. ‘I don’t see how they can get us out, even if they know what’s happened.’

‘The coastguard will find a way,’ Frank said. ‘We’re lucky there’s not more of us, truth be told.’

‘What about Douglas?’ Anna asked again, still thinking about that stubborn old man sitting in his house as it crumbled on top of him.

Frank rubbed a thumb across his eyebrow. ‘Aye. I don’t know, lass, is the answer. He knows where we are. If he has any sense he’ll knock on that door in the next half an hour, begging you to take pity on him.’

The hours passed in the semi-darkness of flickering candle and fire light. Douglas McKean did not appear. The storm seemed to grow worse with every minute, the slow rumbling of the crumbling cliff swelling and shrinking beneath the roar of the wind. They kept the wood burner stoked so that the room was warm, but no one could sleep. Time seemed to have entered a fugue state – Anna had long ago lost track of the hour when a clattering, tearing sound came from the kitchen. They all turned to look, but nothing had fallen from the shelves. It was Anna who realized that the wind had finally found its way beneath the edges of the shutters over her tiny window and ripped them away. She got up, a blanket around her shoulders, and went to look out. Aside from the rain beating frantically at the thick glass, she could see nothing but pitch-black. Yet the last time she’d looked at the clock it had surely been morning?