Olivia was sitting cross-legged up on the headland, just her and the big sky, with the sea below, all shades from indigo to teal. Funny, she hadn’t spent much time in Cornwall for twenty years and yet she could still name every seabird – the guillemots and cormorants and razorbills – without a second thought. She’d recognized the sea-pinks and vetch too, their names springing instantly to her mind as she noticed them. Cornwall ran through her veins, like it or not. Every place carried a memory for her. Being here, for instance, reminded her of the time she and Aidan had once made their way to this spot together, bunking off sixth form to smoke a badly rolled joint and lie in the warm tussocky grass hand-in-hand for a whole afternoon. It seemed a fitting place to write a letter of confession; she could practically feel his presence there with her, directing her hand.

Dear Lorna and Roy, she began. I should have told you this a long time ago, but . . .

Then she stopped, already swamped with shame and doubt. This was going to be the hardest letter to write. How on earth would she be able to find the words? How could she do this?

Because you owe them, a voice in her head told her. It sounded a lot like her conscience. Don’t you think you owe them that much?

Her hand shook. She hadn’t smoked for over fifteen years, but she suddenly felt desperate for a cigarette. A brandy, even, to stop her nerves.

She put the pen down and thought of Mack far away at home with the boys. Somewhere, beyond all the hills and fields and rivers, all those villages and towns and streets, the three of them were carrying on life without her. Eating breakfast, getting dressed, going to the park, digging in the sandpit, swinging on swings. They walked through her head like cutout paper dolls and she felt a small, dull ache inside for them. She missed them. She had failed them. Why had she ever thought she could be a good mother this time around?

Still searching for the right words with which to begin the letter, she switched on her phone and the familiar flurry of beeps and notifications chorused at her moments later. All from Mack at a guess – oh. No, actually. He must have been ringing around trying to find her, because there were some others too.

Dad: Everything all right, love? Where are you? Ring me if you want to talk. Mack’s really worried about you.

Her brother Danny had texted too: You okay? Is this about Mum? You’re not her, remember. Don’t do this, Liv. Call me?