In the kitchen, Arthur took his mother’s arm. ‘You’ve got to stay up here now, Mother. There’s no alternative. We’ve done as much as we can.’

‘You stay with me,’ she said, pleading with him. The electrics had gone and she’d lit a candle next to the sink. The dark yellow light flickered on her face, throwing deep lines across it. Her small hand gripped onto his arm.

‘I can’t. I have to get a boat.’

‘It’s not safe. Oh Lord, Arthur, you can’t leave me. I’m dying.’

‘Mother, please. You’re hysterical.’

‘Art, it’s getting worse down here!’ Jack called up from the shop, and that was his cue. He bent down and kissed her on her thin, papery cheek and she dug her fingers into his arms.

‘Don’t leave me.’

‘You’ll be fine, just stay here.’ He gently prised her fingers off his arm and pulled away. He heard the coldness in his voice and hated it. ‘Please, Mother,’ he said.

‘We need to go, Art!’ Jack shouted from below. He imagined Jack rowing out to Howe Farm like a hero and him here with his mother, and for all that it was a mad act, he couldn’t let Jack do it.

He patted her hand, turned and left.

How long had they been? He didn’t know but the harbour had overflowed the quay wall and they were now waist-deep in seawater. Little boats had broken their moorings and were out to sea or crashed into one another. All around them, what had once been solid ground was now a shining, silvery mass, glimmering in the moonlight.

He could hardly hear Jack above the roar of the wind. ‘Boat?’ he seemed to be shouting. Arthur laughed, mirthlessly. There were boats everywhere. Pulled along by the force of the current, the two of them blundered back towards Staithe Street where there were a couple of small rowing boats banging against the shops along the quay. He grabbed Jack’s arm and led him towards one of them. He had to use all his strength to right the damn thing and get it steady. God knows how they would both get in it. And they needed oars.

‘Oars!’ he shouted and pointed at the freemasons’ hall behind them. There was a set on hooks on the wall in the yard, a boat too, but he didn’t fancy his chances in that old craft. The abandoned boat was sturdier. He indicated to Jack to keep hold of the boat and he plunged himself along with the current to the yard to grab the oars. There was a moment of nervous laughter as they almost tipped the boat over on itself as they tried to get in. He wondered if he would find it funny one day.

‘Can you row?’ he said, passing Jack one of the oars.

‘Of course I can,’ Jack shouted back.