Following Wei’s directions, I continued down the main street towards the beach, passing a tiny primary school on the way. There were kids playing on the equipment in the yard, which told me that somewhere there had to be more life than I’d seen so far.

Just after the school, the main street formed a T-junction with another road. Pointing left was a sign to something called The Lobster Factory, but I was going right along a street that ran parallel to the ocean. Down here, I saw a playground, a car park, some public conveniences and an orange shack with a sign on the side that claimed to sell ‘the best fish’n’chips in the southern hemisphere’.

Big claim, I thought, my mouth watering nonetheless.

It wouldn’t help my mission to lose weight and reinvent myself so my husband might notice me again, but if I managed to stay longer than one night, maybe I’d treat myself. Past the playground came the white sand, covered in seaweed, which led to the most stunning aqua-blue water I’d ever seen. My toes wriggled in my sensible shoes and I could imagine the feel of the sand between them, the water splashing at my ankles. It had been a long time since I’d paddled in the ocean without having the added worry of watching my kids, and I had a sudden urge to do just that.

My sensible side reminded me, however, that my priority was getting to the shack—I could check out the beach later—and so I drove on. After less than a hundred metres or so, the road curved off the water, and houses sprouted on either side—some directly waterfront, others slightly higher across the road but still with a good view and access to the beach.

I suspected some of the larger places—with their fancy architecture and full-length windows—belonged to the city folk who came here in the summer, and that the quirkier, less grand, box-like abodes might house locals. It was the latter type that Wei’s directions led me to and, as I parked my car on the patchy grass in front—there was no driveway or even garden to speak of—I wondered what I was getting myself into. Hayley had described the place as a ‘cottage’, which evoked images of cute, cosy dwellings with thatched roofs and flowers bursting out of window boxes—the kind of house you read about in fairy tales.

The faded blue fibro construction in front of me was about as far from that as you could get. Wind swished above me between the massive gum trees I’d parked under, and a shiver scuttled down my spine. Not a sound around me—no cars on the street, no people going about their business in any of the nearby houses. Even in broad daylight, the place had an eerie feel about it.

A wide porch stood at the front with two rooms jutting forward at each end. As I approached, I noticed the paint peeling off the gutters and awnings, but I guessed it had charm in its own way.