The woman doesn’t stop to see the barmaid shake her head and doesn’t seem to hear her as she says, “Can’t even imagine, Luce, can’t imagine.”

“God and the poor mum, what was her name again? Meg. Megan. That’s it. The poor woman. I heard she was nothing short of a saint to that girl, literally laid down her life for her daughter.” Gillian nods along as keeps talking and I try not to wince as they praise Meg. I don’t want to piss Luce off, so I just sit and make all the right noises as she babbles on.

“And to think she’d already lost her boy. Remember, Gill, Christie was working at the chip shop round the corner when it happened.” She turns back to me and says, “Christie’s my ex–mother-in-law. Anyway, Christie said she heard the ambulance from way off, couldn’t believe it when it stopped just outside the chippie and the paramedics went running down the path, towards Raynor. Christie said for weeks after that she couldn’t get the poor woman’s screams out of her head. She said she knew, as only a mum can, what those screams meant. Poor soul.”

At last, Luce stops talking, drains the last of her white wine.

Gillian shakes her head at the memory, but then a gruff male voice from across the bar barks, “Gill!” and with a roll of her eyes she walks away to serve the man.

Luce takes a big breath, as though she’s about to start talking again. I leap in, my headache forgotten, before she does.

“So he died here, did he? Danny?”

She looks at me, slightly despairingly, like I haven’t been listening, like I’m being dim. She nods a couple of times, slowly, emphatically.

“Yes, just a mile down the coastal path at Raynor Beach.”

She nods in the direction of the lighthouse before her eyes glaze over and she’s shaking her head again and saying, “That poor, poor woman. And she was pregnant too. I remember one of the ambulance boys told Christie later that she was pregnant. At the time I was surprised her pregnancy was never mentioned in the news reports, but then I thought she must have lost it and didn’t want the bloody world to know.”

She’s wrong, of course, the baby did survive, but only just. I wonder whether Grace in utero felt her mother’s screams, whether those screams echoed around her brand-new heart. There’s a brief silence before Luce continues.

“I was just saying to Gillian: Raynor looks like the most peaceful spot in Cornwall, but those rip currents are bloody lethal. Some of the old boys even reckon it’s cursed.” She wrinkles her nose. “But it’s just them currents, they’ll whip you off your feet, even in shallow water, and hold you under like a bloody crocodile until you stop kicking. The council do bugger all, of course. If it was popular with tourists round here they’d be signs and lifeguards and all sorts. Can’t have one of those nice rich people from London drown, can we?” As Gillian walks back to us she lifts her glass and waves it at her friend. By the time Gillian has filled Luce’s glass I’ve made my excuses and got down from my stool. I let the pub door bang behind me as I walk into the warm night.