‘I think we’re on our way.’ Kate glanced back at the sea. Was the tide retreating at last? It seemed to be farther away, certainly, and the force of the wind seemed less. Cautiously she turned the vehicle south, keeping parallel to the waves, and began to drive back towards the cottage. Straining forward to see through the slivered glass, she watched the beach; it was impossible to see where the sand was firm. All she could do was pray as at last she swung the wheel and headed up towards the dunes. It all looked so different in the headlights; the snow and the spinning sand eddies shifted and disguised the landmarks. Nothing was where it should be. She felt the Land Rover lurch sideways suddenly and she clutched at the wheel. For a moment she thought they were going to stop, then the wheels regained their grip and they were on their way again. Moments later she saw the lights of the cottage in the distance behind the dunes and muttering a short prayer of thanks, she headed doggedly towards them, threading her way round the dunes, following the path she had taken so often on foot, until at last she felt the vehicle drag itself onto the snow-covered grass.

The front door was still open but she ignored it. She had no wish to go in there again, with poor Bill still lying on the sofa. Instead she headed up the track towards Redall Farmhouse, driving more quickly now as they lurched uncomfortably over the ruts and skidded in the ice-fringed puddles, once or twice crashing over fallen branches as she drove on with gritted teeth. The petrol indicator, she had just noticed, was bouncing around the empty level. She could not believe it. They could not run out of petrol now. Not here. ‘Hang on, you bastard. Just hang on.’ She chewed on her lip furiously, ducking automatically as they brushed beneath the low overhanging branches of a stand of larch and slithered back onto the main track.

Through the cracked and murky windscreen she didn’t see the shadow which appeared right in front of them on the track until it was barely feet from her front bumper. She slammed on the brakes, fighting to control the sliding vehicle, spun the wheel and heard with a cry of misery the resounding crack as they crashed into a tree. She was wearing no seat belt and the jolt sent her flying forward against the windscreen.

It was several seconds before she sat up, feeling herself cautiously. There was a bump the size of an egg on her forehead and she felt as though she had been kicked in the ribs by a horse but she was alive.

The headlights were directed at an angle up in the air. They had landed against a tree, with the back wheels in some sort of ditch. Even from here she knew there would be no way of getting the car out. ‘Damn.’ She struck the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. ‘Damn, damn, damn! Greg? Are you all right?’ She dragged her aching body round to look at him. He had been thrown to the floor by the impact and lay there huddled below the seat not moving. ‘Oh God!’ Stiffly she groped for the door handle and tried to push it open. It appeared to be jammed. She peered out again. What was it she had seen in front of her like that? She shivered. Whatever it was had gone – a figment of her overwrought imagination probably – and now the woods were empty as before.

‘Greg. Greg? Are you all right?’ She wrestled with the handle. ‘Greg. Can you hear me?’

It was no good. She couldn’t open it. She glanced across at the other door. It looked as though it might be easier to open. Climbing across into the passenger seat she pulled at the handle. After a moment it swung free and she managed to climb out. One glance past the headlights showed the front wing was buckled, the radiator had gone and the front tyre was flat. ‘Damn!’ She kicked the tyre as hard as she could, then she turned and dragged at the rear door. It was locked. Shaking with panic she crawled back in the front, knelt on the seat and reached down towards him. In the darkness she couldn’t see his face. ‘Greg? Greg, can you hear me?’

Her small torch was still there, in her pocket. Switching it on she directed it down. He was lying face down on the floor, his body hunched, his arms trapped beneath him as though he had made no effort to save himself at all when he was flung forward. Somehow she managed to scramble over the seat and putting her arms around him, she propped him up on the floor between the seats. He groaned but he did not open his eyes. For a moment she sat still, gazing out at the harsh beam of the headlights which lit up the woods. Soon the battery would fade and they would go out. She glanced at her watch wearily. It was after two. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to leave him and go for help on foot.

Gritting her teeth she wedged the torch into her pocket, tucked the rug more closely round Greg, lowered her window half an inch for air and climbed out into the cold. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Hang on,’ she whispered. She glanced up and down the track, shining the puny, swiftly-fading beam into the trees. The only sound was the drip of melting snow and the occasional rattle of leaves.

It couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile – ten minutes’ walk at most. She set off up the path, keeping to the middle of the tyre ruts, feeling her boots slip repeatedly in the icy puddles and frozen mud. Her shoulders were crawling with terror. Tensely she hunched them, sure that any moment she would feel a hand reach out and touch her, turning round repeatedly as she walked, to look into the dark. There was no one there. The silence grew deeper as the sleet slackened and the dripping of the leaves began to diminish, but always with her was the sound of her own laboured breathing and the steady flap and squeak of her rubber boots.

The sight of a light in the distance was so sudden, so wonderful, she stopped and rubbed her eyes. It was a square light, pale blue, a light shining through an upstairs window at Redall Farmhouse. With a sob she began to run, squelching through the slush, brushing the wiry branches of larch and spruce out of her way as they tangled and whipped across in front of her.

She was gasping as she ran across the snow-covered grass and flung herself towards the door, reaching frantically for the bell.

For several seconds there was no response to her frenzied ringing, then she heard footsteps on the other side. ‘Who is it?’ Patrick’s voice was muffled.

‘It’s me, Kate. For God’s sake let me in.’

She listened to the sound of locks being turned and the two bolts being drawn, then at last the door was open and she fell into the hall.

‘Kate, thank God you’re all right. But where’s Greg?’ Diana, still dressed, her face drawn with exhaustion, clutched at her arm.

‘He’s in the Land Rover. I skidded into a tree. He’s hurt his foot, and I think he may have knocked his head. It’s only a few hundred yards up the track. You’ve got to help me bring him home.’

‘Dear God!’ Diana looked helplessly at her younger son. There was only Patrick left to help. Roger had gone to bed at last with two of his painkillers and when she had glanced into their bedroom an hour ago he had been fast asleep, his face still white and drawn as he lay clutching the pillow in the light of the shaded bedside lamp. Allie too was asleep, breathing harshly, her mouth a little open, her expression strangely hard, although her colour had returned to normal. Quietly shutting the door on her, Diana had walked downstairs thoughtfully. The sight of her daughter had filled her with unease.

Patrick had been asleep in the chair by the fire. She had pulled a rug over him and left him there, near the comforting embers. She had been sitting at the kitchen table drinking her third cup of coffee when Kate’s frenzied knocking and ringing had startled her to her feet, awakened Patrick and sent them both into the hall to stand behind the bolted front door.

‘Sit down, child and get your breath back,’ Diana commanded as Kate staggered into the living room. She was soaked and muddy and her hair hung in tangled rats’ tails around a face that was transparent with exhaustion.

‘I think he’s safe for now. I locked the doors and he’s got a rug, but after Bill -’ Suddenly she was crying. ‘You don’t know about Bill – ’

‘We know, Kate.’ Diana put her arm round Kate’s shoulders. ‘Paddy went over to the cottage before the snow got so bad. Paddy, fetch the brandy, quickly,’ she commanded. ‘Don’t try and talk, Kate, till you’ve got your breath back. Then we’ll work out how to fetch Greg.’ Her eyes went to the window. He was alone out there. Alone and injured.

‘Alison -’ Kate said suddenly. She tried to sit up but Diana pushed her back against the cushions. ‘Don’t worry about Alison, my dear. She’s safe. She came home by herself. She’s upstairs in bed now. All we’ve got to do is fetch Greg, then we can all rest.’

There was a moment’s silence. They were all thinking about Bill. Poor, kind Bill. Kate wished he wasn’t alone at the cottage. But there was nothing they could do for him, whilst Greg needed help urgently.

‘Did Alison tell you what happened?’ She opened her eyes and studied Diana’s face. Exhaustion and worry were etched on the other woman’s features.

‘Not really. She was too cold and tired. Time enough to question her in the morning.’ Diana was silent for a moment as Patrick reappeared with a tray. On it were three glasses and a bottle of cognac. He poured them each a liberal dose and handed one to Kate, then another to his mother. The fact that she said nothing when he took the third himself filled him with misgiving. He sipped it cautiously and felt his eyes stream as fire spread down his throat. ‘How can we fetch Greg? Could we somehow use your car, Kate?’

Kate shook her head. ‘The track is almost impassable. That’s why I skidded.’