My son’s warm body clambers on top of me.

‘Why’s Yaya crying?’

I wipe the wet from my cheeks and hug-wrestle him to the ground. ‘Yaya’s not crying. It’s just sea spray in my eyes.’ His worried face looks unconvinced. ‘Salt makes your eyes water, Tommy.’ Then I tickle him until he’s writhing and hitting back at me, tears flowing from his own eyes. ‘See, Tommy, you’re crying now, and you’re happy. Tears don’t always mean you’re sad.’

‘But I don’t like so many tickles, Yaya. It hurts.’

I pick him off the ground and hug him close to my body, his heart knocking against mine.

‘Tell me when I’m doing something you don’t like, ok?’

He starts to hit me, trying to break free from the embrace.

‘Too tight, Yaya.’

‘Sorry, darling. Will we do our spinnies?’

He nods, and I put him on the ground for a moment before lifting him underneath his arms and twirling him round and round.

‘Higher, Yaya, faster…’

The air is whistling in our ears, the dog running in circles around us.

‘Herbie loves this too, Yaya.’

I spin and spin, determined to give him the ride of his life, until my legs give out beneath me and I fall to the wet, puddling sand, my little boy collapsing on top of my chest, the two of us panting and laughing, Herbie licking us all over.

‘Best Yaya in the whole world.’

The only Yaya in the whole world, a name he concocted in response to me calling myself Sonya at times, then other times Mama, and his little head got confused. I close my eyes and let the world tilt, my whole body spinning like it’s on a psychotic fairground ride that loses control of itself, its operators looking grimly on as the machine cranks its speed up, over and over. I think I remember this same sensation around my own mother: of speed and spinning.

Tommy snuggles deeper into my tummy. The only thing that is mooring me to the here and now is the warm, beating body of my son. When I open my eyes I find him staring at me with a concentration as intense as a lover’s. Not that anyone has looked at me in that way in a while, but I recognise that gaze that contains all the aspects of love as I inspire it: confusion, possessiveness, protectiveness, and something else, cloudy and worrying.

I point to a spot in the sky. ‘That’s where Mr Sunshine is hiding today. He must be sleeping after yesterday.’

Tommy looks to where my finger is pointing and transfers his intensity to the bright place in the clouds where the sun is obscured.

‘Maybe we could brush away the cobwebs and let Mr Sunshine wakey up?’

‘What a good idea,’ I say, standing, brushing the wet sand off my clothes. ‘Let’s get our magic brooms and sweep away those pesky clouds.’

The two of us mime swiping at the air, giant sweeping brushes in hand. Herbie barks at the sky.