Helga rubs the back of her neck with her towel, taking a moment to appreciate the sky, which is a blaze of pinks and oranges over to the west, but by the pier in the east, the dark-blue night is approaching. Day and night and her in the middle. A part of her soul yearns to be on a boat, where this feeling is always the most profound at sunrise and sunset. They always felt like the greatest privilege to witness. She remembers watching a whole school of whales off the coast of South Africa once at sunset. That feels like a lifetime ago.

She turns her attention back to the group and starts to get dressed, but it’s a rigmarole. She’s got four tops and a jumper and coat, plus a scarf and hat, but she’s already shivering with the after-drop. She knows she’ll miss this buzz once the weather gets warmer.

Dominica lies on her back, trying to pull Chris’s tracksuit bottoms up her long legs, but, like Helga’s, her skin is sticky and it’s hard.

Once they’re all dressed and wrapped in scarves, hats and gloves, there’s a friendly atmosphere as they all huddle together on the stones and chat. Dominica gives her hot water bottle to Claire who really has the shivers, but she soon settles and then seems to remember something. She pulls out a Tupperware box from her bag and offers it around.

Helga peers inside. It’s filled with crinkly greaseproof paper, below which is a layer of home-made mince pies.

‘What a treat!’ Helga takes one gratefully and passes the box on.

‘Are they vegan?’ Tor asks.

‘I’m afraid not. I have these, though.’ Claire brings out another Tupperware tub filled with what she calls ‘health balls’, clearly anxious to please. She unclips the lid with difficulty, her fingers numb. ‘They’re dates and coconut oil and raw cacao powder. Oh, and cashews. You’re OK with nuts?’

‘I certainly am. And I’m very OK with these,’ Tor says, eating one. ‘They’re delicious. Wow.’ Her straggly hair is sticking out from under the turn up of her thick bobble hat and she grins, the cacao powder sticking to her teeth.

‘You can come again,’ Helga says. ‘In fact, I’ll put you on the Sea-Gals WhatsApp chat if you like?’

‘That’d be grand. It’s nice to make food that’s appreciated. I love baking, but I hate having to throw away what I make. But then the worst thing happens … I end up eating it myself.’ Claire pats her stomach with disdain. She’s nicely rotund, Helga thinks. Solid. In a good way. She wonders if she’d ever model for her life-drawing classes. They could all do with some fresh blood, having drawn Keith over and over. She’s not sure she can do better justice to his back fat wrinkles and sunken shoulders any longer. But Claire has a touch of Botticelli about her.

‘Don’t ever throw cakes away. I will always take them off your hands,’ Tor says. ‘For the food bank. I’m serious. There are dozens of people I know who’d give their right arm for a home-made mince pie like this.’