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Either way, Taps took no notice. He kept on walking along the jetty. Baz could almost hear him counting his footsteps.

Taps was approaching the water cart, but he didn’t stop to put his buckets down. He walked straight past it, stepped up onto the square of concrete, and kept on going.

“Oi!” This time the shout from below was louder.

Jubo came to a halt, lowering the handles of his barrow so that the metal supports grated on the tarmac. “What the guy doin’ now...?” He stood up straight. “Ey – Taps!” he yelled.

Baz hauled backwards on the barrow, his feet slithering on the gritty surface of the pathway as he tried to avoid colliding with Jubo. But he was completely out of control, and the load tipped sideways, yellow sand slewing down the pathway as the barrow was wrenched from his grasp. Baz felt the skin of his palm split open, a stab of pain, but he dared not look at the damage. He clapped his hand to his mouth, the taste of blood metallic and salty on his tongue. And in the distance, through splayed fingers, he saw the figure of Taps disappearing over the end of the jetty...

“Oh, 
man
!” Jubo took a hesitant step forward, then turned to look at Baz – his eyes wide in disbelief. “You 
see
 that? Taps just...” Another moment of shock, and then Jubo seemed to come alive. He raised his arms into the air, waving frantically to Dyson. “Dyse! Taps jus’ gone off the jetty!”

Baz followed Jubo, running as fast as the steeply sloping path would allow.

The landscape below him danced crazily around, his vision shaken out of focus with each jarring footstep. Steiner was hurrying along the jetty, then running, and Baz expected him to disappear in search of Taps. But when Steiner got to the end of the bank of rubble he came to a halt. He just stood there with his hands on his hips, looking down towards the water.

It seemed to take an age to get there. Baz caught up with Jubo at the point where the tarmac pathway came to an end, and together they ran along the top of the jetty, their feet scrunching in time on the chippings. They divided where the water cart stood, Baz to the right, Jubo to the left, then hopped across the half-finished square of concrete. From here it was only a few more steps to the crumbling edge of the jetty. Steiner turned to look at them, scowling, hands still on his hips.

“What the hell was 
he
 playing at?” he shouted. “And where d’you think you’re going?”

Jubo took no notice. He immediately began to clamber down the steep bank of rubble and concrete blocks, and after a moment of hesitation Baz followed, stooping to steady himself as he looked for solid footholds among the angular protrusions.

“Oi! Get back here!” Steiner kicked at the edge of the jetty and a scattering of chippings descended upon Baz, the sharp stones stinging him through the thin material of his T-shirt. He ignored Steiner and kept going.

There was no sign of Taps. The choppy waves smacked against the jumble of concrete blocks in random and unpredictable motion, sending gouts of foaming water shooting in all directions. Jubo was already thigh-deep in the waves, his hands cupped to his mouth, trying to keep his balance amidst the flying spray.

“Taps!” he shouted. “Taps – you there?”

Baz was soaked long before he reached the water’s edge. He put an arm up to shield himself and took another step downwards, searching for firm ground as his legs disappeared into the oily froth. Steiner was yelling something from above, but his words were lost in the surrounding rumble and splatter of the waves.

There was no rhythmic pattern to the current, nothing to work with. The waters rocked this way and that, battering Baz from all sides, and as he lowered himself yet further down the steeply shelving bank, he lost his balance. A wave caught him in the chest, threatening to throw him over backwards, and as he pushed against it in a desperate effort to stay upright, he was just as suddenly yanked in the opposite direction. He tumbled forward, sucked headlong into the soupy filth, eyes and mouth wide open with the shock of it...

Millions of dark fibrous threads swam before him, like little pieces of frayed cotton... and there were flakes of yellowy brown stuff... scaly sequins... all shooting away into the gloom. Down through a world of muted echoes he fell, swallowed up by the murk, until he was in utter darkness. His breath came out of him in a great sickly belch of terror, and foul water forced its way into his nose and throat and lungs, filling his mouth with nameless textures – gloops of slime – hairy things that brushed across the back of his tongue. He was choking, gagging, descending into a black and bottomless void. He was going down to his death. Oh God, it was really going to happen. Then his shins scraped against something solid – the hard edges of concrete blocks – and the pain of it came as a burst of relief, a stab of hope, because he hadn’t disappeared into complete nothingness after all. The world was still here. Baz scrabbled blindly about, reaching out for something, anything, to cling to, the roar of panic in his ears. His fingertips found the bank of rubble, and the slope of it gave him direction. He clung frantically to the sharp corners of the blocks, pulling himself upwards, fingers, knees, toes. The water grew paler in color – a glimpse of daylight – gone – there again. And then he was gasping in the roil of froth and foam, spitting, gulping, but still crawling. Still alive. He stumbled forward, hauled himself a little higher up the bank in a last effort to get clear of the waves, and then collapsed onto the rubble.

Almost immediately his stomach went into spasms of retching, so that he had to somehow get onto all fours once more in order to keep from choking. Black water spewed out of him, pumping so violently that he thought his very insides must come up through his throat. Oh God. Oh, God...

“That’ll teach you, you dozy pillock.” Steiner’s voice drifted down from above. Baz couldn’t even look. His whole body was thrown into gasping convulsions again and again, although there was no longer anything to bring up.

He was aware of hands upon his shoulders, and he heard Jubo say, “You OK, guy. You OK.”

Baz wiped his streaming eyes, coughed and spat, and spat some more. He couldn’t get the awful taste out of his mouth. His stomach gave another dry heave, and another, but gradually his juddering breath became calmer. He looked briefly upwards to see that Jubo was standing beside him.

“No... no good?” he said.

“Taps?” Jubo shook his head. “Nah. Him gone, man. Come on. We get you on your feet.”

Baz needed all the help Jubo could give him to get back up the rubble bank. The pair of them were dripping wet, and it was difficult to get any kind of grip on each other. Time and again Baz slipped from Jubo’s grasp and fell. But somehow they got there, staggering over the lip of the jetty at last and onto level ground. Jubo still held him upright, and now the pair of them were confronted by Steiner.

“Satisfied?” Steiner’s lips were pursed in cold anger, his upper teeth protruding slightly. He stepped forward and caught Baz with a stinging slap on the side of the head. As Baz rocked sideways, Steiner lashed out again – this time at Jubo. But Jubo managed to dodge what was coming, letting go of Baz’s arm in order to protect himself. With no further support, Baz collapsed in a heap. He looked up to see Steiner and Jubo in a brief circling dance on the brink of the jetty, Steiner’s arms outstretched like a goalkeeper’s, Jubo dodging from left to right, trying to get past. Then Steiner suddenly lifted his foot and kicked Jubo straight between the legs.

Jubo doubled up and fell to the ground, rolling this way and that in gasping agony.

“What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?” Steiner’s freckled face had turned red with fury. “Just ’cos one little nutter decides to go for a chuffin’ swim doesn’t mean you all have to. You’re not much use to me alive, but you’re no chuffin’ use dead!” He whisked at the ground with the side of his boot, sending a shower of stones flying towards Baz.

“Get up! Yeah, 
you!
 Come on. You’ve wasted enough chuffin’ time already.”

Baz rolled over onto his hands and knees and struggled to stand up. “Now get that other useless tosser onto his feet. Drag yourselves down to t’ sort room and tell Hutchinson I need a couple of replacements. Now!”

Jubo was still lying on his side in the dust, clutching at himself, tears of pain streaming down his face. Baz staggered over, his stomach in turmoil. He crouched beside Jubo.

“Come on, Jube. Better see if you can get up.” He managed to lift Jubo into a sitting position, then grabbed his wrists and hauled him onto his feet.

“Ah... ah...” Jubo’s breath escaped in short bursts.

“Come on. You’re OK.” Baz got one of Jubo’s arms around his shoulders.

“Oi – shift yourselves!” Steiner took a step towards them, and Baz made an effort to start walking.

“Come on,” he said to Jubo. “We can do it.”

They began to stumble slowly along the jetty. As they passed Dyson, he gave them a slight nod.

“See you later, Jubo,” he muttered. But Jubo said nothing.

About halfway back to the main building Jubo called a halt. “Gonna have to stop.” He disengaged himself from Baz and leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees, head down.

Baz was glad of the breather. His insides were knotted up in pain and he felt dizzy. The putrid taste was still in his mouth, a reminder of his underwater terror, the moment when he really thought he was going to die. To die. And that was what had actually happened to Taps. Poor guy. Poor, poor guy...

The sudden splatter of falling liquid made him jump. Jubo was throwing up. Bits of yesterday’s spaghetti festooned the tarmac, thick white worms in a pinkish juice, watery patterns trickling through the dust.

Baz felt his stomach lurch, and he too leaned forward, retching a couple of times in sympathy. But though his guts heaved and the back of his throat felt as though it would split open, there was simply nothing there. He got a grip on himself and stood up again.

“Jesus, man.” Jubo’s voice was thick and muffled. He let out a deep breath, took another. Eventually he stood up too, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Ey.” He looked directly at Baz, his dark face covered in a film of sweat. “I gonna kill that Steiner. I don’t care who say what – it already happen, man. Yeah. And not ’cos him kick me, but ’cos him stand there and watch Taps drown. Don’ lift a finger. So I gonna take him – and 
rass
, man, to what Dyson or anyone else t’ink. Yeah?”

Baz nodded. Yeah.

The hum of the sort room died down as they walked in, everyone turning to look at them. Hutchinson was slumped in a low chair close to the fire doors, one foot resting on his knee, a magazine spread across his lap.

“What do you two want?” he said.

“Been an accident,” said Baz. “Down at the jetty.”

Hutchinson took in their bedraggled appearance, glanced at Baz’s bloody shins. “Get Gene to give you a plaster or something.” He flicked the pages of his magazine.

“No. It was Taps...” Baz didn’t know what to say. “Taps fell in the sea. He’s gone.”

“How d’you mean, ‘gone’. You mean like... drowned?” Hutchinson sat up straighter, paying attention now.

“Yeah.” Baz hung his head, aware of the dead silence that had fallen upon the room. “He fell off the end of the jetty. We tried to get there – me and Jubo. But he’d gone. And then I fell in as well – and I nearly drowned too. And then Steiner beat us both up and—”

“Christ.” Hutchinson stood up and flung his magazine onto the chair. “So what’s the matter with this one?” He looked at Jubo. “Did he nearly drown as well?”

“Steiner kicked him.” Baz was embarrassed. The way Jubo was standing made it obvious where he’d been hurt. “For trying to help,” he muttered.

“Ha.” Hutchinson was unmoved. “For acting like a prat, you mean. OK, so what does Steiner expect me to do about it?”

“He wants two replacements,” said Baz. “To mix the concrete.”

“Do what? He loses one of his own, and so now he wants two of mine? We’ll see about that.” Hutchinson took off his lab coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. As an afterthought he picked up his magazine, folded it and stuffed it in the pocket of the coat. “Right, you two. Stay here. Mark up some tins while you’re waiting. And the rest of you – keep working!”

Hutchinson pulled open the fire door and left.

“Ffffffff... ffff Me got serious grief here, man.” Jubo hobbled over to Hutchinson’s chair and gingerly lowered himself into the seat. The other boys began to gather round, their mouths open, eyes wide with shock.

“What happened? What happened?”

“Taps was... on the jetty.” Baz stared blankly at Amit, trying to remember exactly what he’d seen. “Just walking along the jetty, carrying his buckets. But he didn’t stop – he kept right on going.”

“What, like, 
on purpose?”

“Maybe. I dunno. We were miles off – just coming down from the playing fields with the wheelbarrows. And Taps... you know that counting thing he does? He was counting his footsteps, seeing how many from the sports center, how many from the sand pile. Maybe he got his numbers mixed up. But he just kept... he just kept on walking...”

Baz’s voice faltered as he saw it again in his mind, the distant little figure, so colorful, disappearing over the edge of the jetty. 
Had
 Taps known what he was doing? Had he really decided to try and kill himself? Or was he just unable to stop until he’d reached the right number?

Ray came and stood next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” he said.

“Well, I’m still alive,” Baz said. “And I’m in better shape than poor old Jubo here. Don’t think he’ll be riding a bike for a while.”

It was a stupid joke and nobody smiled.

Amit put both hands up to his temples, his eyes staring wildly at the floor. “God, I can’t believe this place,” he said. “Just can’t believe it. Taps has gone and we’re all standing here. What’re we gonna do? Something’s gotta happen before we 
all
 end up jumping off the jetty.”

“Yeah, I tell you wha’ gonna happen,” Jubo croaked. “I gonna take a hammer to that Steiner. I gonna wait till him in his crib and den clat him so hard his brain jump out.”