‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, my heart breaking. My friend, my love, was leaving and my world was falling apart around me. As we stood by the open front door, Kit took my face in his hands. I will never forget that expression: his eyes darkened with sadness, but were still so beautiful. In that moment I so badly wanted to kiss him.

‘Thank you, Molly. We’ll get through this, somehow.’

‘I’ll miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you too. You’re a really good mate.’ Then, just as I turned to go, he handed me a rucksack. ‘Just in case you decide to go ahead.’

It weighed a ton. ‘Crikey, what’s in here?’

‘Things I promised to bring for the protest: the chains from the boathouse, with padlocks, a tarpaulin and a sleeping bag. Good luck. And give my love to Jimmy.’

‘But . . .’

‘Just in case . . .’

I ran most of the way home, with tears streaking my cheeks. My romantic dreams were shattered. Kit was going away, and heaven knew when we might see each other again. All the plans we’d made together were lost. There was no one else to turn to, no one else I could trust. Being a ‘really good mate’ was no consolation at all.

A breeze was stirring the trees. The rumbles of thunder were more frequent now, and louder, the lightning flashes lighting my footsteps. The storm was definitely coming and I welcomed it. At least it might clear the air. As I reached the vicarage I felt the first drops of rain.

21

There was little sleep to be had that night.

The wind howled like a tribe of banshees, whistling through the window casements and lifting the curtains with ghostly hands. The storm seemed to pause right over the village for a full half-hour. I tried counting the seconds between the lightning flashes and the bangs of thunder, but gave up. There were just too many of them, and at times they were almost simultaneous.

At its height a series of deafening cracks seemed to shake the house. I huddled under the bed covers, expecting Jimmy to join me at any moment: he hated thunderstorms, and no amount of explanation could persuade him that they were just a natural phenomenon and very unlikely to cause any harm. But he never came, and I assumed he was in a deep slumber, dreaming of dragons and perhaps parrots. At last the storm seemed to abate a little, and I managed to get back to sleep.

Jimmy was late down the next morning, and no one was surprised; we were all rather short of rest. The rain had stopped and the sky was already beginning to clear, but the street outside the vicarage was a lake of puddles. The garden was a mess, with shrubs and trees destroyed by their pummelling from high winds and torrential rain.

Father appeared, hungover and hollow-eyed, just as Mrs D bustled in.