But no criticism came. ‘Not at all,’ the woman said earnestly instead. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you so much. Now if you could just turn a little, so we can get the best light . . .’ She angled the camera, leaning it over Maggie’s hand, then began clicking off shots. ‘And perhaps if you could hold it up against this piece of driftwood,’ she went on, heaving a chunk of wood up from beside her table. ‘Lovely. Yes. Super!’ She beamed at Maggie and put the camera down. ‘Okay. Now you can go ahead and hurl your worry into the sea. Throw with all your might.’

‘I’ll try not to hit anyone,’ Maggie promised. Feeling rather self-conscious, she walked down to the water’s edge, found a stretch of shoreline where there were no swimmers or frolicking children within throwing distance and bowled the pebble underarm. It landed with a satisfying splosh, ten feet or so away, and vanished beneath the surface.

She knew it was symbolic rather than anything real, but all the same, the act of throwing the pebble away felt good. Surprisingly good. She imagined it sinking through the water before settling into the muddy depths, down below the waves, and the letters she had chalked gradually washing away. Being too scared to try: gone.

All the way back up to the art-project table, she could hear that splosh resounding in her ears and she smiled as she caught the woman’s eye on returning. ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Do you know, I feel oddly better for that.’

‘Good! That’s the whole point,’ came the reply. ‘Consider that worry lifted off your shoulders.’ She grinned. ‘Okay, now for the more upbeat part.’

This woman was infectious, she really was. Because not only was Maggie then absorbed in choosing the nicest pebble to keep and the marker with the prettiest colour (the sage-green was quite lovely, she eventually decided), but she then found herself deliberating for some time about what she wanted to write on it. On a pebble! She must be going soft in the head, she really must. And yet . . .

And yet it mattered, weirdly. She wanted to pick exactly the right word. HOPE, she pondered. STRENGTH? LOVE? TOGETHERNESS?

In the end, she wrote COURAGE in her neatest lettering and awarded herself a small approving nod. Yes. That was what she was looking for.

‘Wonderful! Perfect,’ came the enthusiastic response from the artist. ‘Great – nobody’s done that yet, and it’s such a good strong word. Right, last photograph and then I won’t take up any more of your time. So, let me position your hand here . . . Lovely!’