After Chloe had left, Sam carried on fixing posters. As she worked, she couldn’t help reflecting on the last ten years – and even further back. A decade on and the festival was growing year on year, with well over a hundred stalls, plus live cookery demos in the Chef’s Theatre and music and fringe events in the festival marquee. Funding was as much of a headache as ever and sponsorship from the council, grants and business was vital. Even with that support, the committee still had to beg favours and borrow so many of the things they needed, not to mention giving masses of time for free.

Not everything had gone well. Sam’s own love life had suffered while she’d been trying to make a living. At thirty-two, there was still no Mr Right on the horizon – not even so much as Mr Right Now. Sam had thrown almost all her energy into work, the festival and looking out for Zennor. She’d had plenty of interest and offers – a bit like one of Porthmellow’s sought-after harbourside cottages – but once any guy had seen the work required to maintain the place, they’d given up.

And being honest with herself, Sam had never truly wanted to put in any work on a relationship herself. No matter how much she hated to admit it, she’d never really got over Gabe. She certainly still hadn’t forgiven him for turning Ryan in to the police.

As Sam climbed the ladder to pin up her last poster, she found herself replaying what had happened eleven years before on the night Ryan had been arrested. She’d been alone in Wavecrest when Gabe had arrived. Zennor and Ryan were out and she’d been looking forward to them having some time together in the cottage. The moment she’d opened the door, a smile on her face, she’d leapt on him.

‘You’re late. I’ve been going mad with lust,’ she’d whispered.

Before he could reply, she’d kissed him but he had pushed away gently – so gently – and said: ‘Sam. Sam, I need to tell you something. It’s not good news.’

And her heart had stopped, her chest had tightened. Was Gabe going to tell her it was over between them? That he’d met someone else?

Instead he’d sat her down and said, ‘It’s about Ryan.’

The fear had taken her breath away. ‘Oh my God. What’s happened to him?’

‘He’s OK. He’s not hurt,’ Gabe had said. ‘Not yet.’

And so, it had started.

Although it had really started the year after their mum had died.