On closer inspection, however, she thought she saw something move at the foot of the cliff: a small, white figure.
It was a man, who appeared to be walking, naked, out to sea. Was he really going for a swim at this time of night on his own? The water would be so cold now, and who knew what currents swirled beneath the surface? And there was no one else around to help if he got into trouble.
Stella’s heart started thumping and a gasp rose to her throat where it remained, trapped, for several seconds before she exhaled.
For a while, she couldn’t move, but stayed rooted to the spot, gaping. The man didn’t stop, or seem to react at all to the icy water, but continued walking slowly and purposefully into the waves. It was as if he’d been pre-programmed, like a robot, and nothing would swerve him from his mission.
In an instant, her brain switched gear and she knew without a doubt what she must do. After shinning over the top of the rocks, she scrambled down the other side and ran as fast as she could across the shingle towards the man.
‘Stop!’ she cried, but the wind carried her voice away and he didn’t hear.
By now, he was up to his shoulders, bent over slightly and pushing hard against the powerful waves, intent on beating the tide at its own game.
Although Stella couldn’t make out the man’s features, the closer she got the more convinced she became that her initial suspicions were correct: it was Jon.
Fear curled its freezing fingers round her insides and her breathing accelerated. She felt as if she were suffocating, yet her muscles had never worked harder or more effectively. She was flying across the beach as if she’d been supercharged, her only goal to reach Jon before it was too late.
On arriving at the water’s edge, without thinking, she stripped off her shoes, shorts and top and flung them, along with her backpack, onto the ground.
Then she waded into the sea, barely even noticing the cold, though it made her gasp involuntarily.
‘Jon! Wait!’ she screamed again and again, until her throat was raw, but he seemed to have blocked ears and didn’t turn.
All that was visible of him now was his head, and still he kept on walking at the same relentless pace. Any moment, he’d dip below the surface and she wouldn’t be able to find him.
It had taken her only about five minutes to scramble down the headland and reach the sea, but it seemed much longer. When she was in deep enough, she plunged headfirst into the swell and swam frantically towards Jon, kicking her legs as hard as she could and extending and pulling furiously with her arms.
He was fully submerged now, save for the crown of his head. To her horror, he ceased moving at this point and she realised he wasn’t even trying to stay afloat; he’d surrendered himself to the waves.
She could hear herself crying, making great big sobbing sounds, but no one was listening and it was no use.
All of a sudden, her outstretched hands touched soft, yielding flesh. She grasped blindly before grabbing, wrapping both arms tightly round his chest, her fingers intertwined. Then she used all her strength to tip him on his back, raising his chin with one hand so his nose and mouth were out of the water.
He inhaled sharply before coughing and spluttering, spewing out salty brine. Relief spread through her and she had a few moments of sweet clarity, when she was able to recall a long-ago lifesaving lesson at school:keep holding on to the chin, not the throat; use sidestroke or backstroke to tow the casualty.
Briefly, the method seemed to work, then without warning, Jon made an eerie, high-pitched, wailing sound and started to struggle, his body twisting, his arms and legs flailing.
In panic, feeling her grip loosen, Stella let go of his chin, seized him round the waist with both arms and held on for dear life.
She could just about touch the bottom, but he was rearing up and down, like a bucking horse, writhing and trying to shake her off. She kept going under, swallowing gulps of water, and her lungs started to burn like hot lava, but still, she wouldn’t let go.
Even in this state of terror, she was repeating the same words in her head, like a mantra –I’m not going to let you die… You’re not going to die like this… I promised Harriet.
But she was getting weaker, she could tell. Her body was starting to give up on her. Then, perhaps, they’d both sink down, down, together.
In her exhaustion, she began to think this might be a relief. She could leave all her troubles behind: Al, Hector, Louise. She could forget them all and just slide gently, her pulse starting to slow, her airways closing, her mind going blank until at last… oblivion.
A nasty thought crept its way into her consciousness: Marina had won. That weird, frightening woman must have told her to stay by the sea so she’d drown.
Out of nowhere, a manic laugh bubbled and burst in Stella’s throat, then she began to cry once more, her tears mixing with the salt water before being washed away.
She’d been duped, and she didn’t even believe in psychics. The whole world had turned upside down and she was doomed to leave, without ever having the chance to set it right again…
Her body felt so heavy and her muscles useless. Her arms and legs went floppy, like a rag doll. She felt herself begin to drift away from Jon as the tide took control, pushing and pulling her at will. Not long now, she thought, in a kind of dream. Soon she’d fall into a timeless sleep…
Something yanked at her flesh and began dragging her backwards, brutally hauling her from her peaceful slumber. She wriggled weakly and tried in vain to push the thing off, all the while thinking –leave me be. I just want to rest.
There was a shout: ‘Stella!’
