‘Okay, that’s enough.’ Tamsin took the camera from him and moved on to the next image: a cormorant on a rock, unfocused, just a little too far out for the zoom to reach. Then the signpost leading up from the beach: ‘104½ steps’. Then Tamsin eating an ice cream. Then Tamsin with the end of the ice-cream cone stuck to her nose, grinning clownishly. Then a flower, a bird, the sea.

‘God,’ said Tamsin suddenly, putting the camera down. ‘I had no idea my tits looked that awful when I’m on my back. They were practically in my armpits. I look deformed.’

‘Tam.’ Callum shuffled round on his bar stool and took both of her hands in his. ‘That’s what breasts do.’ He kissed her doubtful mouth. ‘Look at me. You have very, very lovely breasts. There’s a picture by Picasso – actually, a whole series of pictures – with a woman lying on the beach, just like that, tits all over the place. And it’s lovely.

‘I bet she was big. I bet she was Amazonian.’ This was a deliberate reproach: Callum had once used the word ‘Amazonian’ in praise of Tamsin, and had never been forgiven. ‘Anyway, I don’t even like Picasso. Why would I want to look like one of his weird disfigured women?’

‘Well, Picasso likes you.’ Callum was typically undeterred by the venom in Tamsin’s voice. ‘Picasso fancies you rotten. I fancy you rotten.’

A smile tweaked her cheeks.

The next picture was the last, and the only one of both Callum and Tamsin together. Callum had held the camera at arm’s length, gripping Tamsin to him with his free hand. Their faces appeared at the very edge, as though the wind were blowing them out of the frame. Tamsin’s hair had wrapped itself around her neck like a shawl. They were breathless from the wind and the exercise, lending the picture an atmosphere of jubilant spontaneity. This was not the case at all: the first four versions of this picture had been deleted right there on the clifftop, on the grounds that Callum looked too grumpy. ‘You just made me pose naked. The least you could do is smile,’ Tamsin had admonished him. Now, as the picture told its beneficent lie, they could both see that it had been a good idea.

‘We look happy,’ Tamsin said.

‘We are happy,’ Callum corrected, squeezing her softly round the waist.

* * *