How long do power cuts usually last? Will is wondering as he mounts his bike. He mentally plots a course home that’s sufficiently random; if ever there was a time to challenge the concept of his movements being predetermined, this is surely it.

The level crossing is unlit and silent as he leaves Patten’s Island. When he reaches the seafront parade he dismounts and stops for a minute. It’s a night of low cloud and no moon and, with every light out, it’s dark in the way only the coast can be. He gazes beyond the railings and the stony beach into the blackness over the sea. The autumn tide is especially low, the shoreline a good hundred metres away. Will thinks how he might just as well be standing there with his eyes shut. But with the town behind him silenced, the ocean seems to have turned up its volume to fill the void. Every tiny wave that laps on to the sand all that distance away can be heard as clearly as if he’s standing at the water’s edge – the slopping where currents meet and lose their composure, the fizzing where water foams as it sinks through the sand. And all this over the hiss of the sea, itself louder than ever.

Will digs into the pocket of his jeans, feeling the note scrunched at the bottom. He considers pulling it out and taking another read by the light of his phone but stops himself. Like a love interest’s text, it’s been scrutinized for greater meaning a thousand times already. What’s the point of looking again? He turns his back on the water. The darkness too severe now for riding a bike with non-functioning lights, Will instead wheels it the rest of the way home, zigzagging a route through town.

‘Now what have you been up to, getting in at this time of night?’ his mum says as he slips through the front door and eases it closed.

She’s sitting with her feet up on the sofa. Her face flickers in the low candlelight, the air scented with lavender. Ice cubes clink as she swills the contents of a heavy-bottomed glass.

‘Work,’ Will says, neglecting to mention that he was sent home hours ago. He fumbles pointlessly with the light switch.

‘We haven’t been cut off again.’ She’s clearly drunk and the words bleed into each other. ‘Before you ask.’ She makes a point of pronouncing each word crisply.

‘Power’s out everywhere.’ He tosses his coat on to the banister and turns to climb the stairs.

‘Come and talk to me,’ she says. ‘We never talk any more. You’re always able to chat with Nain.’ There’s an edge of hurt, or perhaps annoyance, in her tone; Will’s not sure which.

‘Hardly ever,’ he says, feeling compelled to lie.