Connie bent over again, taking gulps of air and blasting it into Elspeth’s lungs, keeping her grip on the woman’s thready pulse, pleading internally for her to fight, to keep going, to know that there was hope.

Ten seconds – another breath. Six seconds – the world was not just grey but fading in Connie’s peripheral vision – another breath. One second left. Breathe, Elspeth. Breathe without me, she thought. Give me a reason to stay strong. A final breath.

‘Me now,’ Fergus/Harris said.

‘No!’ Meggy howled, her fingers digging painfully into Connie’s shoulders as she held tight.

‘Honey, you have to let me go. I’m going to be fine.’ She peeled the girl’s arms away and sat her back on the ground.

‘Don’t go,’ Meggy sobbed. ‘I can’t look after her …’

‘She’s dead,’ Fergus/Harris said. ‘But we need you now.’

Connie slapped a hand over her own mouth as Elspeth’s dress shifted across her chest. She stared. It wasn’t an illusion. She was breathing.

‘Just do what he asks you, Meggy,’ she said, shifting his attention away from Elspeth.

There was no knowing what he might do if he realised her resuscitation attempt had actually been successful.

‘I won’t.’ Meggy shook her head.

Fergus was up on his feet again, and he stepped towards the girl, his face a contortion of fury.

‘She’ll help,’ Connie said. ‘Let me.’ She pushed past him and went to hug Meggy, pushing her lips as close to the girl’s ear as she could, beyond his hearing in the still-pouring rain.

‘Elspeth’s breathing. Do whatever he says then go for help,’ she told her.

Meggy looked up at her with huge terrified eyes.

‘I’m tired,’ the girl said.

‘That’s okay. Not much longer now,’ Connie told her, stroking her hair. ‘Be brave. I’m going to be just fine.’

Fergus/Harris held out a hand like a groom at a wedding inviting his wife to the floor for their first dance as a married couple.

‘Let’s do this,’ she said, placing her hand in his.

‘You first,’ he said, motioning towards the coffin.

Meggy sobbed.

Connie took a long look at Fergus’ face. His eyes had taken on an evangelical glow, the sweat on his brow greasily distinguishable from the rain splashing there. He was on fire. His chest was puffed out, chin up. The pitiable broken figure – as dangerous as he had been when Connie had first laid eyes on him – had vanished. In his place was a maniac, glowing with the prize that lay within his perceived reach. She swallowed her fear. No time for that now.

Before stepping into the wooden box, already pooled with muddy water, she kicked off her trainers, emptied the pockets of her jeans and finally shed her coat. Two adults in the space meant no room for any additional bulk.

Meggy was huddled on the ground, rocking, crying.