‘Go on then,’ she said, approaching the stand with an unexpected prickle of curiosity. Whatever this was all about, it surely couldn’t be any more embarrassing than her meltdown in Zennor yesterday, she decided.

A pile of large grey and white pebbles had been set out on a table, along with a box of colourful chalks, plus a selection of marker pens. ‘Fabulous!’ said the blonde woman. ‘So this project is about releasing bad thoughts and thinking up new hopeful ones to replace them, as a means of making us all a little bit happier. I’m asking people to choose a pebble each and then to write on them with chalk any negative thoughts or messages that have been holding them back. Anything that’s a worry.’

Maggie was starting to regret getting involved in this. ‘Right,’ she said suspiciously. Because achieving happiness was that simple, clearly. What a load of rubbish!

‘I’ll photograph the chalked pebble in your hand – it’s all anonymous, by the way – and then the idea is that you walk down to the sea and throw the pebble out as far as you can. Really let it go! The tide will take it away – along with your worry.’ She smiled a rather goofy smile. ‘I know it sounds kooky, but the symbolism is really nice. And we all love chucking stones in the sea, right?’

‘Well . . .’ said Maggie, who was already worrying about hitting someone with hers. Followed by an arrest for grievous bodily harm shortly afterwards, knowing her luck.

‘THEN – and this is the good bit – you take another pebble and with one of the permanent markers you write something hopeful and positive. Whatever you want. I’ll photograph that too, then you get to take it away with you. Then we’re done!’

‘Right,’ said Maggie, still dubious. She knew from her geologist days how the Coast Protection Act stated that taking stones from beaches was illegal but she could see a garden-centre bag of sandstone and shale pebbles behind the woman, so presumably these had already been bought, rather than collected from the surroundings. More importantly though, why did this person think anyone would want to pour out their secrets so publicly? On a pebble?

‘You’re looking unsure – let me show you some of the pictures so far,’ the woman said, pulling out a folder from a bag. ‘Here – see? I’m putting on an exhibition at the end of the season. You’re welcome to come along if you’ll still be in town.’

Maggie stared as the woman flicked through the pages of the folder. The photographs were beautifully shot: a hand holding the pebble each time, with their words springing out in coloured chalks. Grandad dying, was written in pink chalk on one. Being alone, read another in pale-blue capitals. Exam results, said a third.