As she gets to the gate with Luna, two police officers in high-vis jackets are walking in, a man and woman. The woman bends down to pet Luna and Maddy thinks how Luna melts hearts wherever she goes. She’d never realised what a conversational ice-breaker a puppy is until now, as she starts chatting to the policewoman, but then her partner’s radio goes. He turns to Maddy.

‘You haven’t seen anything suspicious?’ he asks.

‘No, I was just talking to the guy in there.’ Maddy points to the tent. ‘He seemed a bit unwell. I gave him a tenner.’

‘That’s kind of you, but you don’t want to talk to them,’ the policeman says, with a frown. ‘Some of them really don’t like being disturbed in the day. There’s been some incidents.’

Maddy realises how stupid she’d been.

‘Why can’t they get to hostels?’ she asks the policewoman.

‘They can. But they can’t do drugs in the hostels, so they’d rather sleep rough. Don’t worry. We’ll move him on.’

‘No, no you don’t need to—’

But they’re already marching up the path.

Maddy watches the gate close and feels a spike of dread. As she walks away, she cringes at the thought that she might have unwittingly made things worse.

16

Oystercatchers

Helga can’t sleep and she gets up with the dawn chorus and, in front of the heater in the conservatory, idles away a few hours working on the life drawings she’s started, but she’s not inspired. Keith, their model, with his thick shoulders and hairy back, is impossible to make beautiful. She wonders if Claire will be brave enough to take her up on her offer. She has a feeling that stripping off and baring all might give her the confidence she’s lacking.

She goes to the bookshelf where she pressed her pictures yesterday in between two of the heavy books. They are both sailing books and, on a whim, she opens one of them. A piece of paper flutters to the scuffed floorboards and she picks it up, her heart thudding once in recognition. She’s not sentimental – particularly about mementos. She throws most things away, keeping her clutter to a minimum. She likes the place to be shipshape, everything in its natural place, so she’d be ashamed if anyone knew that she’s kept this note from Linus for all these years. A piece of her heart preserved on a flimsy piece of paper, yellowed and brittle by a long-set sun.

Meet me at the dock.

She sighs, putting the faded note in the book. There’s no place for regrets, she tells herself. But, still, her mind strays back to those sun-filled days messing around on boats with Linus that Christmas in Antigua – oh, it must be nearly fifty years ago, but she can picture it all as if it were yesterday. She remembers his tanned, lithe torso, his floppy blond fringe, his infectious smile.

She thinks back to that day she made the choice not to meet him on the dock.