Britta’s voice came like a bullet across the breech. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she warned him. ‘Men aren’t allowed. It brings on a terrible fury.’ The sea joined in with her – a Greek chorus. It boomed against the caves in the cliffs below, loud enough to shake the bones in their chests.

When Viola reached him, was able to look him in the eye, she saw that he was handsome. She could imagine the girls at her old school getting excited about someone like this, discussing his every feature in whispers on the bus – his eyes, his lips, his everything.

Viola spoke directly, with a confidence she didn’t know she owned. ‘Are you looking for some close-up action?’ she asked.

He shrugged, smirked, then stepped forward as if he might claim his winnings right there and then.

‘Hey!’ She stepped back, putting up her palms.

The situation slowly turned, Viola reframed it – she must give herself this credit. Hadn’t they, only moments before he arrived, expressed their wish to push things further? She had outlined an idea of how they could do this – what they would need. Was it really such a coincidence that he had turned up then, as they lifted their hands to the sky, making a promise to do whatever was required of them?

His being there, Viola decided, was not a problem; it was a gift.

‘We need you to do something first,’ she told him.

He slid the phone into the back pocket of his jeans, freeing his hands for the qualifying task, thinking it could be done there and then.

‘We need you to fetch us a heart.’

He snorted, thinking this a joke.

‘A real one,’ she clarified, ‘an animal one, from a cow or a sheep.’

He was the one to suggest it: ‘Or a goat?’

They’d shook on it, made a deal. He would give them what they wanted, and they would give him what he wanted in return.

Viola knew that she would have to be the one to make the payment. The others were already sure they were going to hell for what they got up to at the stones.

‘The Lord helps those who help themselves,’ Viola told them as reassurance. ‘It says so in the bible.’

‘That’s not from the bible.’ Jade-Marie had shaken her head and pulled a face.

‘It sounds like it should be, but it isn’t,’ said Anna, always ready with a footnote. ‘There’s generally more scripture to support the idea that the Lord helps the helpless, actually.’

‘Well, that’s also you, isn’t it?’ Viola suggested.

‘Make your mind up, will you, coycrock!’ This was Britta – the word coycrock a term of affection in her mouth.