Flinging back the covers, which were drenched in sweat from my night terrors, I headed for the shower, trying not to think about what kind of fungi may be lingering in the tiles beneath my feet. I’d worked hard yesterday, washing the moth-ridden curtains in the bedroom, changing the sheets and starting on detoxing the kitchen, but I hadn’t made it even close to the bathroom. Sure, my family teased me about enjoying cleaning too much, but this did not make for a relaxing break!

As soon as I was dressed, I’d leave this horrible shack and Ragged Point behind for good.

The hot water pounded into my aching bones and I felt marginally human again by the time I got out and decided on a walk to stretch my legs before the two-hour journey. Wasn’t I supposed to be getting into an exercise routine to help me shift my middle-aged spread?

I headed out to the back porch and onto the beach shoeless, despite my husband’s voice in my head about the dangers that might be lurking beneath the sand. It felt blissful between my toes, the fresh salty air filled my lungs in a way Perth air never did and I yelped with delight each time the water hit my heels.

There were only a few other souls on the beach—holidaymakers having mostly returned to normal life by now—and, as I admired this beautiful ocean, I thought I could get used to such serenity. Pity I couldn’t get used to the shack. When my stomach started to rumble and my parched throat could wait no longer for my morning coffee, I turned around and was almost back when I saw a man in a little boat rowing towards the shore from the direction of the island.

Did he live out there?

The man saw me looking and lifted his hand to wave.

Not wanting to be rude, I waved back and although I meant to continue on my way, my feet didn’t cooperate. I stood still, watching as he reached the shore, jumped out of the boat and dragged it onto dry sand. He wore a dark-grey polo T-shirt, which wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his impressive upper body. I guessed if anyone rowed on a daily basis, they’d quickly develop such muscles.

Maybe I should take up rowing.

‘Hi there,’ he called, as he straightened and started towards me. ‘You’re not a local.’

I wasn’t sure if this was a question or a statement. ‘No. I’m just visiting.’

‘Welcome.’ He nodded and offered me his hand. ‘I’m Dan.’

‘Ashling,’ I said. His grip was strong, his skin warm and slightly wet, but not in a disgusting way. He was so tall I had to tilt my neck to look up into his tanned face, which boasted three-day stubble. Judging by the shaggy, sun-kissed hair that flopped on either side of his face, he didn’t worry too much about his appearance.

Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t ugly; I was simply used to the men in my life being clean-shaven with short-back-and-side cuts.