It seemed impossible. An act of madness. Yet, rowing out along the Beach Road embankment to the prefabs had made him realise where the breach – or breaches? – had happened. The farm would be cut off from the town. Even if they could row out to the farm, surely the force of the outgoing tide would be impossible to control, and would sweep them out to sea? But he couldn’t leave her out there. He couldn’t let Jack go alone. His marrow and soul were aching. Peter was his friend and Verity’s brother. With a pierce of pain, the dance came back to him. She could have seen Jack at the dance. He opened his mouth to ask then closed it again. A chink of doubt had crept back in and he didn’t want to give in to it. But now the image had lodged in his brain he couldn’t cut it out. He saw her dancing at the village hall; he saw Jack holding her. Whatever happened, he had to find her. Not Jack.

‘All right, but we better get on with it.’ He didn’t say, because I’m frozen and tired and I can’t go on for much longer.

He was right about the high point: the flood was definitely receding. There was only dirty, lapping water on Staithe Street now.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Arthur looked to where Jack was pointing. Down to their right, looming up on the quayside, the huge bulk of a boat on the dockside, clearly lifted there by the rising waters. He recognised it: it was the Sea Scouts’ torpedo boat, the Terra Nova. Its sheets dangled, useless. A group of men was gathered around it, shaking their heads. But they dragged their boat past the men, on towards Beach Road, which was still underwater. He glanced at the shop as they passed, saw the windows broken and the night air streaming into the dark inside. There was no point worrying about that now.

Down on Beach Road, they climbed back into the boat. The water was still high out there, too high to wade. He wondered if anyone was left down in the prefabs but he couldn’t hear anything apart from the wind. They rowed out towards the farm. Jack’s torch provided a thin light to guide them. He hoped the batteries would last.

He was wrong, though; the worst wasn’t over. When they reached about halfway along the road they were rowing down he saw water up to the telegraph wires and, as he’d guessed, rushing through a breach in what had been the embankment, towards the harbour.

‘Jesus,’ said Jack and they started to pull hard against the current.