The ice-cold water numbed Davy from head to toe. As he surfaced, he peered at the steel hull, which appeared to vanish into the mist.

Waves smashed into him. His lungs hurt as the ship's undertow grabbed and dragged him down. The thrashing, pulsating throb of the propellers destroyed any thought. His body cartwheeled. Any sense of direction was unknown.

Fearing for his life, he swam with one hand and kicked hard until his head found fresh air. Battered and disoriented, he held onto the bag and dragged air into his lungs.

Half-blind he drifted on the ebb tide. He retched, and his senses returned. Panic and the will to survive drove him. Get to the shore, he told himself. The beach seemed closer. With an effort hauled from unknown reserves, he pulled himself onto the abrasive sand and pebbles.

Exhausted, his chest hurt, and his head ached as if someone had put the boot in. He struggled to stay focused as waves of pain charged through his body. Bit by bit, he dragged himself forward and into a coppice. Out of sight, he curled into the foetal position and blacked out.

Snapshots of his life gathered. The orphanage in Portsmouth. Fifteen years in the Royal Navy. The day he found his wife in bed with a naval officer. The horror on her face when he tipped boiling tea over the man's genitals. His demotion. Chris, Jack and his gambling addiction. One loathsome loan shark. The pictures faded as his mind let him return to sleep.

***

Davy's eyes opened, but he could not focus. He groped for his watch, but his wrist was bare. He spat onto his fingers and rubbed his stinging eyes. Slowly his vision cleared.

An almost full moon hung in the sky. To his left, a thousand lights of Hound Point Oil Terminal blazed. Further upriver, traffic made its way across the Forth Road Bridge. The bank robbery now dictated his future; he was on the run. He wondered if Chris and Jack had survived.

He undid the bag from his wrist and opened it; bundles of notes sealed in their wrappers filled his hands. He must move, keep a clear head and make decisions. First things first, he could not go anywhere in Day-Glo orange waterproofs.

With the aid of a tree trunk, he stood. His head spun as he staggered along the beach, using the tree line to conceal his progress. After a mile or so, he came across a cottage.

Remaining in the shadows, he stopped, waited and watched. An owl shrieked and the leaves in the trees rustled in the light wind. From his feet, he lifted a small rock. His hand shook as he hurled the missile at a window alongside the main door. The glass shattered as he dropped to the ground. Prone, he lay motionless and listened. He considered the risk. Nothing happened. Relieved, he exhaled and forced himself to stand. The house curtains wafted in and out of the damaged frame.

Warily he approached, stopped a few metres from the window and listened.

The house remained dark and quiet.

On climbing inside, his feet kicked a pile of envelopes scattered on the floor. This told him what he needed to know. His heart continued to thump as he searched for the bathroom. Once there, he turned on the light and stared at his reflection. Black mud caked his hair, face and hands. He discarded his day-glow orange suit and ran the shower; it remained chilly. He stepped in, shivered, and soaped himself. Clean, he removed a towel from the bathroom rail. He found a pair of overalls in a back bedroom, a jacket on the big side, and oversized shoes. From the top of a wardrobe, he removed two suitcases, one large and one small. In the larger, he placed his torn and tattered waterproofs and, in the smaller, the money. He stared, stunned, at the bundles of used banknotes falling into the case. He counted the packs of tens. On reaching a hundred, he knew the case contained thousands. He needed fifteen thousand to pay off his debt. A wad of fives and tens, he shoved into his inside jacket pocket. Seated on the edge of the bed, he placed two thousand pounds into the bedside cabinet's top drawer. It was up to them if they told anybody.

Long before dawn, he left and made his way along a narrow tree-lined path. One hour later, he chanced upon a street dark and deserted. He walked for a while. At a T-junction, he stared along a brightly lit thoroughfare. A quick look both ways confirmed that the road was empty. Anxious, he left the cover of the lane and strolled towards a bus shelter. His body ached as he attempted to gather his thoughts. Bit by bit, the understanding and extent of the trouble he was in dawned.

From a distance and out of sight, the noise of a diesel engine vibrated the morning air. He stepped out and flagged a taxi. The driver swerved into the kerb and stopped. Davy clambered in, carrying both cases.

"Don't get many fares this time of the morning. Where to?"

He thought fast. "Do you know anywhere cheap and cheerful that does food?"

In a melodic Edinburgh accent, the driver said, "Martha's Café, in Leith is where us cabbies go. Good nosh, a nice brew of tea and won't cost you an arm and a leg."

"That'll do me. How far is it from Waverley Station?" He was aware of the man's eyes, observing him through the rear-view mirror.

"It's a good walk, but you can get a bus or a cab."

In silence, they passed through a maze of streets. Other than a milkman, the streets remained deserted. Unhindered by traffic, the cab covered the miles. Davy gazed out of the window. He saw a sign for the Royal Yacht Britannia and remembered it was a tourist attraction in Leith. Ten minutes later, the taxi turned and came to a halt outside a café. "That's you, pal. Seventeen quid."

Davy pulled two tenners from his inside pocket and handed them to the driver. "Keep the change."

He watched the taxi depart before he entered the café. The smell of cooked bacon made his mouth water. A full Scottish breakfast of two fried eggs, four rashers of streaky bacon, white pudding, potato scones and square sausage, swimming in grease, and two mugs of hot, sugary tea, soon disappeared.

He sipped his third cup of tea and gazed at the other customers who ate the same heart attack creations.

When the shops opened, he bought better fitting clothes. In a nearby chemist, he obtained toiletries. He walked to the centre of a bridge and stared into a river flowing into the docks, on the far side of the Forth the green hills of Fife. He remembered someone saying; if you can see the other side, it will rain; if you can't, it's raining. Today, the other side remained bright and clear. A bitter north wind blew unchecked and chilled him.

He hailed a taxi. it stopped, and he jumped inside. "Waverley, please."

"On holiday?" asked the driver.

"No," he said, in a tone that stopped any further conversation.

At the drop off point, Davy paid the fare. He grabbed his bags and wandered across the concourse to the ticket office.

"Where to?" asked a middle-aged man. Cheap plastic National health spectacles covered half his face.

Deep in thought, Davy stared at him. "Looks like I'm headed for London."