‘Well—’

‘Or people who split up and have to move out of their home and they can’t afford to rent somewhere else,’ she says, cutting him off. ‘Not to mention the people I meet all the time who’ve experienced horrific abuse. Would you stay in a house where someone was beating you up or raping you?’

‘I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the spongers.’

‘The spongers. I see.’ Tor wishes Alice and her parents could hear what a bigot he sounds.

‘The people who come over here—’

‘The refugees? Or the economic migrants? People who are fleeing persecution or war? Those spongers?’

‘You two,’ Alice interjects, and Tor sees that it’s time to bite her lip.

‘Yeah, well, there must be other solutions other than handouts. That’s all I’m saying,’ Graham concedes, but Tor is riled by the self-satisfied way he sits back in his chair.

‘If private landlords’ – Tor is aware of her flushed cheeks and shaky voice – ‘didn’t hike up the rents, then maybe there wouldn’t be such a housing crisis.’

Graham owns a whole load of commercial properties and flats. He shrugs, but his eyes are steely. ‘Let’s not go there, Victoria. I know it might come as a shock to you, with your “hippy-dippy, right-on Brighton” ways’ – he puts his fingers up to invert a phrase he’s made up himself – ‘but I’m not responsible for market forces.’

Dominica and Helga are listening as Tor recounts this word for word. They’ve turned and are heading back in.

‘Yep, he’s a prick,’ Helga announces. ‘Grade A. You’re right, Tor. Good for sticking up for yourself.’

‘And we’ll all do the swim with you,’ Dominica says. ‘It’s in March, right? Don’t worry. We can get some sponsorship money between us.’

Tor feels more reassured than she has done all day. She slows as they get to the shore. It’s too deep to put her feet down. She follows Dominica and Helga and together, they catch a wave as it barrels over onto the pebbles, depositing them into shallow water, like a mother coaxing a child forward.

‘Sorry to offload all of that,’ she says to Dominica as they walk up the beach. She notices her legs are bright orangey pink, but Dominica, in her light-blue swimming costume with dolphins on it, looks like a goddess.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ she says, smiling. ‘That’s what the sea’s for,’ and Tor wonders what she leaves behind when she comes out.

9

The Extension

Claire waves her fingers away from the scorching heat and licks her finger, as she places the last mince pie on the wire rack. ‘Asbestos fingers’ is what Pim calls her, with her ability to withstand intense temperatures, but it’s actually just laziness on her part. She’s never got the correct utensil so uses her fingers instead. She wonders how long it will be before the boys rip themselves away from their screens and come down. Not long, she reckons, knowing the aroma will be floating through the house right now. She takes the last pie – the runty little one – and pops it in her mouth. Chef’s treat.