‘There’s just me. Orphan, I am. What about you?’

‘That’s sad. I’m an only too. My dad ran an abalone boat, though he went after rock lobsters too in season. He wasn’t actually my father, I just called him Dad. He married my mother while she was pregnant, only he didn’t know about that until after the wedding. He stuck around and looked after us, but he and I have never been close. I don’t suppose you could expect it – she did deceive him, after all.’

‘Yeah, bit rough on ’im,’ he said slowly. ‘Was he kind to you?’

Tilly considered the question. She had rarely analysed the relationship – it was as it was, and long before dementia had taken Les Williams’ mind, she had given up trying to change him. ‘He wasn’t mean to me,’ she said slowly. ‘I was fed and clothed and schooled. He just didn’t go the extra distance. I never got a hug from him. There were no treats or special outings. He never turned up for the school concerts. I suppose he saw me as a responsibility but I didn’t really matter to him. He’s got dementia now – hardly even knows my mum, never mind me.’

Matt put down his sandwich, face creased in a frown. ‘She stayed with him, but? It sounds like he held it against her that she was up the duff and never said.’

Tilly shrugged, not liking the way he’d put it. ‘I expect she was grateful. Back in the mid-sixties it was a big deal for an unmarried girl to get pregnant, especially a Catholic one. She was a convent schoolgirl, my mum. And she seems to love him – she never talked about it, but yes, I’m sure she cares for him. Without me I think they might have been truly happy. I left as soon as I could, and I don’t go back much.’

‘So you stay out here instead?’ He eyed her consideringly. ‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘Location doesn’t make any difference to that,’ she said shortly. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What about you, Matt – you’re what, thirty-something? How come you’re not married?’

His gaze slid away from hers again. ‘I am. It were a mistake. We split,’ he muttered.

‘Oh.’ Tilly could think of nothing more to say. In silence she chewed her last piece of carrot and gathered up her plate and cutlery. ‘We’re a sad pair then, aren’t we? Will you be here for smoko?’

‘Yeah.’ He smoothed out the plastic that had held his lunch, then immediately crumpled it again, mumbling, ‘Gotta get those stores unloaded,’ and left without another word.