Toby saw a blanket across the back of Cullen’s chair and grabbed it, shaking it out and spreading it over the old man. Rachel tucked it around the patient and then it seemed only a minute later there was a burly man in a motorcycle helmet bursting into the room: a first responder with kit enough to restart a failed heart if needed. The ambulance followed a few minutes later, and all Ron and Toby could do was stay out of the way as Cullen was loaded onto a stretcher and rushed away, Rachel keeping pace with the medics all the way. The ambulance roared off, taking both Cullen and Rachel with it, and trailed by the motorbike. Suddenly it was just Ron and Toby left in the lighthouse, the only noise the faint crackle from the wood burner and Bukowski’s plaintive whines. The two men stood like statues in a garden of paper.

‘Well,’ Toby said, unsure quite what to do. ‘Perhaps it would be best if we locked up?’

Ron looked at him blankly and Toby thought that he was seeing the effects of shock set in. Shock he could deal with. Shock he had copious amounts of experience with.

‘I don’t know where Rachel keeps the key,’ Ron said.

‘Ah,’ said Toby. ‘Do you know of anyone else with a spare?’

‘Only Cullen.’

Together they looked towards the door.

‘I’ll stay,’ Ron said, after another moment of silence. ‘Until they get back.’

Toby, who had seen the grey pallor of Cullen’s face and knew what it meant, did not say that he thought it likely that Rachel would be coming back alone. ‘I’ll stay with you then,’ he said, instead. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I put the kettle on for a cup of tea?’

Ron nodded and Toby went to the counter to search out what he needed. When he glanced back, the old man was standing stock-still beside the upturned chess table, his old leather shoes surrounded by the scattered soldiers of two miniature armies.

Gilly ran from the tower and as she went she could already see a motorcycle speeding up the hill towards her, its single white light catching slashes of falling rain in the beam as it cut through the afternoon gloom. She ran, heading for the forest, hauling herself over the fence with her pack banging against her back, and as she crunched towards her tent she heard the blare of an ambulance siren.

‘You!’ came a woman’s voice, high-pitched with anger.

Gilly froze. Ahead of her was a small woman with a sharp, pinched face, dressed not at all appropriately for the forest in a dark two-piece suit and low heels. She was standing beside Gilly’s tent, hands on her hips, glaring over it at Gilly. A man was standing a little way away through the trees, although he wasn’t paying any attention to Gilly or the woman. He was faced away from them both and had set some sort of equipment on the ground, a tripod with a strange-looking device on the top of it. He held a clipboard and a pen.