‘Annie,’ Greg says flatly as if he’s speaking to a small child. ‘Put your anorak back on now.’

‘Shan’t,’ I say. Then to my own surprise, I peel my sweater over my head too.

My husband gasps.

And I fight the urge to cover myself up again. I don’t think I’ve ever been on a beach in my bra before and I’m torn between feeling liberated and terror.

‘Annie. Stop this right now.’

I kick off my boots and socks and let the wet sand tickle between my toes. ‘I’m going to paddle.’

‘That’s stupid. You’ll catch your death of cold. It’ll be about minus five in there.’

‘Come with me,’ I beg.

‘You’re mad.’

Running to the sea, arms spread wide, I leave a trail of anorak, sweater, boots and socks behind me.

As I reach the waves, I stop and yank off my trousers.

‘Annie!’ Greg shouts. ‘Now I’m really cross!’

I splash about in the sea in my bra and knickers, almost hyperventilating as each wave breaks over me. A man with a sheepdog stops to watch.

Shivering, I launch into a version of Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’ as I try to jump the waves and mistime all of them. I yell the words pointedly at Greg over the sound of the surf. ‘GIRLS. JUST. WANT. TO. HAVE. FUN.’

The sheepdog barks.

Greg puts his hands in his pockets and stomps off.

Then a big wave comes and knocks me flat on my face.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I get back into the car. Greg starts it up. I’m soaking wet. The sexy lingerie stays in the overnight case. We lie back-to-back in Mrs Emerson’s lumpy bed. And the seagulls of Cromer never get to see my breasts.

We drive home in silence.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Greg had been fishing since he was a boy. His parents used to take him on holiday to Cromer as a kid and he was never happier than when he was at the end of the pier, hauling crabs out of the sea on a line with a basic hook and filling a bucket. When it was brimming he’d stagger back to the caravan site where they always stayed and he’d spend another hour joyfully releasing the wriggling crustaceans, one by one, into the saltwater boating lake. It was a pastime that was as pointless as it was pleasurable.

‘If I was Prime Minister,’ Ray was saying, ‘I’d use criminals as road cones on the motorways – when they were doing repairs and the like. If you survived a year without getting killed, you went free. Sentence served.’ He glanced at Greg to check that he was listening. ‘That’d create some space in the prisons.’

‘Yeah,’ Greg said, and reeled in his line. He hadn’t had a bite for a while. Perhaps it was time to try another type of bait.