And then they heard the sound at the door downstairs. Kit felt the colour return to her face. She and her father exchanged conspiratorial glances of relief, the relief that would not be mentioned when Mother came in. But the door didn't open.
It wasn't Mother.
It was somebody rattling the door trying to turn the handle and then resorting to knocking. Kit's father ran down to anwer it.
It was Dan O'Brien from the hotelm and his son Philip. They were wet and windblown.
Kit watched them from the top of the stairs.
It felt as if everything was moving very slowly.
"Martin, I'm sure everything's all right." Dan began.
"What is it, man? Tell me. Speak, God damn you."
Father wa in a panic, wanting the words which Mr O'Brien didn't seem able to say.
"I'm sure it's all fine, the children are home, aren't they..?"
"What is it, Dan?"
"It's the boat, your boat ... your boat, Martin. It's cut loose and it's upside down drifting. There's fellows pulling it in. I said I'd run up and see ... make sure the children were at home. " Dan O'Briem seemed relived to see the two faces peering down at him.
Emmet had come from his bed in his pyjamas and sat huddled on the top of the stairs.
"Well, sure, it's only a boat ... and there's maybe not much damage." He stopped.
Martin McMahon was holding him by the lapels of his jacket.
"Was there anybody in the boat ...?"
"Martin now, aren't the children there behind you ... "
"Helen?" Martin almost sobbed out the word.
"Helen? Sure what would Helen be doing down there at that time of night? Martin, it's a quarter to ten. Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Helen... " Father cried, and ran out in the rain, leaving the door open.