She smiles to herself. Just months ago the thought of it would have made her recoil in horror, but the more she comes, the more she needs it. Siobhan couldn’t believe it when they Zoomed last night. Her sister had said straight away that Claire looked different, in that suspicious way that her sisters always have – as if Claire might be using a miracle product she hasn’t shared with them. Only there’s no secret. The miracle product is the sea.

It’s helped that she’s started taking supplements and the Menopoised magnet that Dominica bought online and gave her last week has made a big difference to her night sweats. Pim was sceptical that it would have any effect at all, but, as a physicist, he hadn’t been able to argue with the science behind Chinese medicine and the evidence that the spot on the back of the neck to treat heat has been working for thousands of years. Whether it’s the magnet, the supplement, or sea, or the combination of them all, she’s feeling – if not exactly like herself of old – then certainly that a new version is coming into view.

On the pebbles, dogs are running and there are some people blowing up inflatable paddleboards. With conditions this good, with this freakish sun for this time of year, who can blame them? There must be twenty or thirty people out there on boards, some kneeling, some standing. She can hear a plane and a speck in the sky comes into view from Shoreham. She looks up as it does a loop in the sky, the vapour trail leaving a fluffy line of white against the blue.

It’s Claire herself who has put the shout-out for a swim and she calls out as she arrives at the top of the bank of pebbles and Dominica waves back. At first, when she met Dominica, Claire hadn’t thought they had much in common, but the more they swim together, the more she appreciates her humour and kindness. They hug warmly as Claire arrives. Helga is in the sun, her back to the wall. She’s sketching the scene in her notebook and Claire looks down at what she’s doing, impressed.

‘Oh, a seagull,’ she says.

‘A herring gull,’ she corrects her. ‘You see its pink legs? And that one, with the dark grey wings? That’s a lesser black-backed gull. He’s got yellow legs.’

‘Why black-backed if his wings are grey?’

‘Because’ – Helga points, with her pencil, as the bird takes flight – ‘he’s got black wing tips. Not to be confused with the great black-backed gull. Those are the giant ones. With beady eyes. And that little one over there is the common gull. Dark eyes, see, and a yellow bill. It has a common name, but I think it’s cuter than the herring gull.’

‘Wow. I never knew the difference between them all. Can I take a look at your drawings?’

‘Sure.’ Helga passes Claire her notebook and she looks through it, reverentially. She hadn’t realised how talented Helga was.