‘I’ve always been scared of the menopause,’ Tor says. ‘And having that all to come. I’m scared I’ll turn into an old hag.’

‘Oh, I hope you do,’ Helga announces. ‘I totally identify as an old hag. I always draw in a new box on those government forms when they ask me.’

‘That figures,’ Dominica teases her.

‘A hag in days gone by was a wise woman. Someone who lived independently. Who knew about remedies,’ Helga says matter-of-factly.

Tor smiles. ‘You’re a very fit old hag, Helga.’

‘You enjoy being young,’ Claire tells Tor. ‘With that lovely figure of yours. I’d so love to be skinny.’

‘I hate being skinny,’ Tor exclaims. ‘I hate being flat-chested and having a boy’s bum. Why do you want to be skinny?’

Claire is surprised – by her admission and by the genuine confusion on Tor’s face. ‘Well, to be healthier for a start. To feel attractive again.’

‘You don’t feel attractive? Does your husband tell you you’re not attractive?’ Helga asks and Claire is shocked by her directness.

‘Pim?’ Claire feels suddenly disloyal somehow, ashamed that Helga would think that of him. ‘No … no …’ she stumbles, but the truth is that she can’t really remember the last time Pim properly flirted with her. She can’t remember the last time she spontaneously snogged him. It’s been so long that the thought of it is preposterous. That if, say, she were to press him against the fridge and kiss him – with tongues – he’d think it was some kind of assault.

‘Then who is telling you you’re not attractive?’ Helga asks.

‘I am, I suppose …’ she trails off. She can’t admit the truth. That she looks in the mirror and often turns sideways, viewing the flap of her stomach above her butchered double Caesarean scar with a loathing so violent it sometimes makes tears come to her eyes. And how she increasingly wonders where her youthful skin went and what on earth she can do about her grey roots.

‘Nonsense. I want you to model for me,’ Helga says.

‘Model?’

‘I teach a life-drawing class. You’re so much more interesting than Keith.’

‘I don’t, I can’t …’

‘Yes, you can,’ Helga says encouragingly, meaning it.

At that moment, a wave comes from nowhere and crashes over their heads.

‘That took me by surprise,’ Claire splutters.

‘There’s nothing like the slap of a wave on the back of the head to remind you who’s boss,’ Helga says. ‘Look out, here comes the break.’

She nods towards the surfers in the distance near the burnt-out pier who are all on the move.

Another wave breaks over Claire’s head and she’s dragged forward then gets her feet down. Tor bodysurfs past her like a dolphin, making a gleeful whoop of joy.

Claire is still smiling when she gets back to the house. Pim is already complaining about his workload, about the latest dictate from his nemesis – the deputy head, but, for once, she remembers the swimmer in the superhero cape and, before she knows what she’s doing, she stands her ground.