With the sun so low in the sky Tom’s face is all troughs and hollows: shadows beneath his eyes, under his cheekbones and bottom lip. As they walk she imagines drawing him, sliding charcoal over paper, leaving white highlights on his brow and the bridge of his nose. The thought surprises her. It’s been a long time since she’s felt the compulsion to pick up a pencil, paintbrush or piece of charcoal. The urge to create is normally smothered by the mundanity of everyday life: bills on the doormat, clients cancelling appointments, a leaky tap, a noisy neighbour, a bad night’s sleep. She’d always wanted to become an artist – her GCSE art teacher said she showed real talent – but when she approached her parents about going to art school instead of sixth form they squashed the idea. ‘It’s not a proper job.’ ‘You need a job that uses your brain.’ ‘We didn’t pay for grammar school so you could spend a lifetime in debt.’ She didn’t fight them, as she assumed they knew best, but a small part of her died on the first day of the new A level term.

She drapes her dressing gown over her shoulders, shielding herself from the whipping wind. They’ve paused their walk a foot or so away from the edge of the cliff, and the hundred and twenty metre drop to the sea below. She wants to inch closer, to experience the dizzying sensation of being on the edge of the world but she doesn’t trust herself to move. Tom, beside her, is gazing at the horizon, his pupils huge, dark pools beneath the low set of his eyebrows.

‘We should carry on,’ he says, ‘before it gets too dark.’

He sets off again, following the curve of the cliff, stepping around pools of water, navigating the rocky terrain with confident steps, but his head remains bowed. Jenna remains on the cliff edge, watching him. His mood shifted when he was staring out to sea. He seemed troubled. She could feel it, as powerfully as the wind. As the distance between them widens she hurries to catch up.

They continue to walk in silence for several minutes and then Tom clears his throat.

‘We’re here.’

The cliff top path has led them down to a small pebbly cove, locked between two stony cliff faces. The sea is no longer a deep navy. Instead, the water is a soft turquoise, sea foam licking at the pebbles.

Jenna raises her eyebrows. ‘That looks cold.’

Tom turns to look at her, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘It is. Ready for a swim?’

Chapter 9

Now – February

KATE