Turning her back doggedly on the dig Kate walked into the wind, her hands pushed firmly to the bottom of her pockets. The cold was so fierce it stung her face, it hurt to breathe. She clamped her lips tight across her teeth and, head down, walked firmly forward, scarcely aware of the beauty of the sea beyond the beach where the air was crystalline, the colour of mother-of-pearl, and the heaving mass of water had the solid shine of polished pewter. Somewhere nearby a gull screamed. She looked up and saw it weaving and circling effortlessly on the wind, part of the fearsome force of it.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is a society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea and music in its roar…

It was elemental; wonderful. As always, Byron had the words to convey the power of the scene; if only she in her turn could bring his images into her book…

The sand whirled around her feet in eddies, loosened by the sleet. Ahead she could see the body of another gull, one which had lost the battle with the elements, lying wet and bedraggled on a patch of wet shingle. A tangle of weed lay near it, and it was not until she was close, staring down sadly as she compared it with the beautiful wild beauty of its colleague above her head that she saw the cruel pull of nylon fishing line around its legs. Overwhelmed by anger at the thoughtless, careless arrogance of man she stooped to touch the mottled grey brown feathers. It wasn’t even an adult bird. This must have been its first winter, its first joyous tussle with the elements. The bird’s body was cold and hard, the feathers clamped scalelike against its body. Shivering, she straightened and walked on.

She did not walk for very long. The opaque mist on the horizon was drawing closer; the wind strengthening. She could see a faint shadowing across the waves which was a shower of hail sweeping down the coast and towards Redall Bay. Turning, she walked briskly back, more comfortable now that the wind was behind her.

She had not intended to walk as far as the grave, but somehow she could not resist it. One glance, to see if it were still there. Each tide now was a threat. Each storm, each wind.

Her shoes sliding on the side of the dune she was nearly there when the first shower of hail hit her. Sharp, biting, the ice cut her hands and face, tearing at her scarf as she scrambled the last few feet and stood looking down into the hollow below the exposed face of the dune to find that she was not the first person there. Alison was kneeling on the sand, her hands ungloved, hanging at her sides, her eyes fixed on the exposed face of the working. One glance at the trail of wet weed and shells showed Kate that the early morning tide had come nowhere near the edge of the excavation this time. It was still safe.

She hesitated, unsure whether to creep away, not wanting to intrude and risk a mouthful of abuse. The girl was unmoving. Kate frowned. She took a step closer. There was no sign of any spades or trowels, no ghetto blaster, no tools of any kind. Still Alison had not moved. Her hair whipped wildly around her head; her jacket flapped, unzipped, around her body.

‘Alison?’ she called, uneasily. She paused, waiting for the girl to turn and swear at her for intruding upon her private thoughts, but Alison didn’t stir.

‘Alison!’ she called again, more sharply this time, and she began sliding down the side of the hollow. ‘Alison? Are you all right?’

Alison gave no sign that she had heard. She was staring at the sand and peat face of the dune.

‘Alison?’ Her voice rising in alarm Kate put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘Alison, can you hear me?’ She shook her gently. The girl’s body was rigid and cold beneath the flapping parka, clad, beneath it, in only a tee shirt and thin sweater. ‘Alison, what’s the matter?’

Behind them another shower of hail swept in from the sea. The hailstones rattled against the wiry grass, shushing into the sand, battering their faces. To Kate’s horror she saw that Alison neither blinked nor moved as the hail hurled itself against her face and slid down her cheeks. ‘Oh God!’ She glanced round wildly, half hoping that there would be someone else around, someone who could help, but knowing already that there was no one on the beach at all. ‘Alison, you must listen to me!’ She grabbed the girl’s hand which was ice-cold and began to chafe it vigorously. ‘Alison, you’ve got to stand up. Come on. You can’t stay here. You’ll catch pneumonia. Come on. Stand up.’

Alison gave no sign of hearing her. She stayed totally rigid except for the hand which Kate was tugging which was limp and cold as death.

Kate stared round, her hair tangling across her eyes, her own face ice-cold with sleet. In only a few moments the sea had changed from pewter to the colour of black ink; opaque, thick, sinister in its uneasy movement. Far out there was no distinction now between sky and water. All were black and threatening.

‘Alison, come on. The weather is getting worse.’

Dropping the girl’s hand Kate moved in front of her. Alison’s face was frozen into immobility, the eyes staring straight ahead, not reacting when Kate brought her hand sharply towards them. ‘Right.’ Kate spoke with some force. ‘I’m sorry to have to do this.’ She pulled back her hand and gave Alison a sharp slap. The girl did not react. She did not even blink. Behind them another curtain of hail raced across the sea, embedding itself in the sand, turning the beach a glittering white.

Kate stared at her in despair, then dragging off her own jacket, she pulled it roughly around Alison’s shoulders. Without the padded, fleece-lined protection, the cold enveloped her like a curtain, wrapping itself around her, embedding itself in her lungs, clawing at her bones, but she ignored it. She pulled Alison’s arm around her neck and heaved at her, trying vainly to raise her off her knees. ‘Stand up, blast you. Stand up,’ she cried through gritted teeth. ‘You’ve got to move, Alison, or you’re going to die of cold.’ She struggled desperately against the dead weight of the girl. Alison was barely two inches shorter than she was, and although not plump she was solidly built. Nothing Kate could do seemed to shift her from her knees.

‘Please.’ Stopping her futile effort Kate stood back, wiping the streaming sleet from her face, feeling the ice soaking through her own sweater. ‘Please, Allie, you must try. Stand up. I’ll help you. Then we’ll go to the cottage. It’s warm there. Warm and safe.’ In spite of herself she glanced at the streaming sand around them. Just at this moment she was not prepared to think what could have sent Alison into this state. She did not dare.

Taking a deep breath she pulled the girl’s arm around her shoulder once more, and putting her own around Alison’s waist, she heaved at her, rocking her sideways slightly to try and gain some momentum. As though sensing the movement for the first time, Alison stirred. ‘That’s it. Help me. Try and stand up.’ Kate was elated. Taking another deep breath she renewed her efforts with the last of her strength and this time Alison tried feebly to scramble up. ‘Good. And another step. Good girl.’ Kate pushed her frantically, terrified she would fall again as, unsteadily, Alison rose to her feet, leaning heavily against her. ‘Good, that’s it. Now, we’ve got to get you out of here. One step at a time. Steady. That’s it.’ Sweat was pouring off her face in spite of the icy downpour as, somehow, Kate half guided half pushed Alison up the bank and onto the beach. Still the girl’s eyes hadn’t moved; still she did not appear to register anything going on around her, but she was stumbling forward, guided by Kate’s desperate tight grip around her waist, hanging from Kate’s shoulders like a giant rag doll.

Twice they had to stop while Kate fought to regain her breath but slowly they drew nearer to the cottage. Somehow Kate managed to prop the girl up against the wall as she groped for her new, shiny keys then at last the door was open and they were inside out of the hail. Slamming the door closed with her foot, Kate half carried, half dragged Alison into the living room and unceremoniously tipped her onto the sofa. Gasping as she tried to regain her own breath she ran upstairs to her bedroom and dragged a blanket off her bed. Gathering up her dressing gown on her way out of the room she ran downstairs again. Alison lay where she had left her, half on the sofa, her legs still trailing across the floor.

‘Right, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.’ Awkwardly Kate bundled the girl back against the cushions and began to pull off the soaking sweater and tee shirt. Then the slip of cotton which was her bra. Somehow she forced the cold unbending limbs into her towelling dressing gown, trying to rub some warmth into the wet slippery skin which reminded her horribly of the feathers of the dead gull. She pulled off the girl’s boots and then her jeans and socks, and somehow lifting her legs onto the sofa, tucked her up in the blanket, making a cocoon out of which the girl’s head, with its straggly wet hair, poked like the head of a startled doll.

‘Phone.’ Aware that her own teeth were chattering Kate turned towards the kitchen. Shaking, she waited for the number to connect her to Redall Farmhouse. It was only as she tried for the second time that she realised that there was no dialling tone. The line was not dead – she could hear it alive, hissing slightly, resonating as though there were someone at the other end. But the number made no impression on the echoing silence. ‘Oh, no. Please.’ It was a sob of desperation. She took a deep breath and punched nine nine nine. The line remained silent, expectant, as though someone at the other end were listening as desperately as she was. ‘Hello?’ She shook the receiver. ‘Hello, can you hear me? Is someone there?’ But no one answered. A fresh wave of ice hit the kitchen window. Slowly she hung up. She had never felt more alone.