‘I really don’t think we’ll be able to do anything if it’s just the two of us,’ I told him.

‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he muttered, walking down to where we could see the barrel sticking out of the sand. ‘We might as well at least give it a try.’

But as loath as he was to admit it, within a minute, it was obvious that I had been right. Even with our hands encased in thick gloves, we couldn’t get enough purchase on it to move it even an inch and I could see the sea was making a rather rapid approach.

‘We’ll have to come back tomorrow after all, won’t we?’ he said, sounding frustrated.

‘Or perhaps not,’ I said pointing to where I could see the beach tractor used by the fisherman to haul the little boats in and out heading in our direction. ‘Looks like reinforcements are on the way.’

I could hardly believe my eyes when Joe jumped off the back and ran over to join us.

‘We passed Hope up the road,’ he said, his face flushing, ‘and Charlie said he’d come and lend a hand.’

I watched the driver climb off the tractor and amble over. He was taller than Joe, thick set and after decades spent bearing the brunt of the brutal coastal winds, decidedly weather-beaten. Close to, he looked like the beefed-up hardcore version of his brother and not really someone you’d want to pick an argument with. Not that I intended to, of course.

‘This is Charlie, your brother,’ I said to Joe. ‘I’ve seen the tractor about, but I had no idea who was driving it.’

‘Yeah,’ said Joe, quickly glancing at Sam, who hadn’t said a word, ‘he’s been helping out a mate who’s had a stroke. Charlie’s more farmer than fisherman, but when a friend is in trouble . . .’

His words trailed off and Charlie stepped forward.

‘Good to meet you, Tess,’ he said, the surprisingly soft lilt of his voice not quite matching his powerful physique, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Thankfully there wasn’t time to wonder what it was that he’d heard.

‘Come on then,’ he said, quickly cutting through the silence between Joe and Sam and striding over to the so far immovable barrel, ‘let’s have a go at getting this bloody thing shifted.’

Within minutes we’d secured a chain from the back of the tractor around the barrel and Charlie had revved the engine, slowly moved off and heaved it out. The hefty machine made it look easy, but it had evidently been stuck fast and would have been impossible to dig out by hand, no matter how many of us had committed to the cause.