Jo Hogan. My first port of call, in a storm or otherwise. Not many people have read this book, but you have, and as usual saw to the heart of it. I’ve come to value your judgment alongside my own. Thanks for being there for me when you can’t have had anything else to give. My true, dear friend.

My Sally. This time round it hasn’t been all about the fun. You’ve shared your understanding and calm during dark times. Just knowing you are there makes me feel better, love. Not forgetting Paul, Elly, and Isla and the menagerie—my dear “framily.”

All of my extended family. Special thanks to the Galvin clan for shouting far and wide.

To my gem of a mother-in-law, Pam—for the chats, childcare, and many kindnesses. Pete, Anne, Millie, Juliet, Ray, Lottie, and Lucy, who are always there when we need you. RIP to our wonderful Aunty Fran, gone too soon. I strive to enjoy life as much as you did.

My mum, the original keeper of dragons, you still pick me up now with your love and kindness, as you always have. Dad, for making me smile when I didn’t know I could, recognize the pond scene and the capsize drill? Rob and Jo, for being my retreat when I descend without warning. Syms and Farthing’s bond is for you. Kathryn, little Emmie reminds me of you, and Farthing is your Starlite—you are simply the best sister from glass eyes to lost keys and way beyond.

My cats Buster and Flinty. My sister’s dogs Erynn, Phoebe, and Martha. For all the many therapy cuddles, I’ve appreciated the fur babies more this year than ever before. Farthing contains a little of all of you. Yes, I’m also acknowledging pets, well done for reading this far!

My older son, Ed, for openly talking about everything, you’re instinctively understanding and always making me laugh. My younger son, Oscar, for all the story sharing, for letting me into your awesome imagination, and your natural kindness. I’m so blessed to have you both.

Bill. You do so much for me I don’t know where to start. Sharing this life with you makes it shine. You are the master of everyday acts of love. I promise to try to make better coffee.

RIP, Theresa Honeyands.

My beloved Nanna died peacefully at the age of ninety-four just as I was about to hand in my final edit on this story. I hit my deadline for her, remembering how she always found peace and joy in making things. I love and miss her. I think she’d have liked this story.

Lindsay Galvin was lucky enough to be raised in a house of stories, music, and love of the sea. She left part of her heart underwater after living and working in Thailand where she spent hundreds of blissful hours scuba diving. Forced now to surface for breath, she teaches science and lives in sight of the chillier Sussex sea with her husband and two sons.