Low Tide

It was Sunday the twenty-fourth of October, six o'clock in the evening. Mr Patel was standing behind the desk of the Linden Hotel with his arms crossed.

— Another holiday, he said. You had a holiday in September, Daniel. In Bath. With my sister.

— That was six days, said Daniel. And I've worked for six weeks since then without a day off.

It was half-term, the week in autumn when British schools close. The little hotel in Bloomsbury was full of families. There were children in the lift and children on the stairs.

— An assistant manager doesn't count his days, grumbled Mr Patel.

— An assistant manager has a contract, said Daniel. It says twenty-five days a year. And Rav knows the desk. He'll be fine.

The front door opened. Priya came in with two bags, a microphone and a big smile.

— Ready? The sleeper leaves Paddington just before midnight. We wake up in Cornwall!

— Episode two of Strange Britain, Daniel told Mr Patel. Giants and tides. There's an island called St Michael's Mount, and you can only walk to it when the sea goes out.

Mrs Holloway was coming slowly down the stairs from room 12.

— Cornwall in October? she said. Take a jumper, dear. And watch the tide.

Daniel laughed. He didn't know it then. But four days later he was going to stand at the edge of a stone road in the sea, in the dark and the rain. He was going to have a wet dog and a torch, and he was going to shout a woman's name.