Leaving his father behind? She was careful not to react. She had expected him to say winning the pro surf tour for the first time. Or the ninth.

‘And the worst?’

‘When my mum died.’ His expression didn’t change at all; he hadn’t hesitated. Everything was presented as a fact – happy or sad, there was no emotion attached. These were simply words. He had a wall around him.

She paused. ‘Okay, I’ll ask you some either/or questions and you give me a reflex response. Okay?’

He shrugged, looking bemused.

‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Neither.’

‘You have to choose.’

He sighed. ‘Coffee.’

‘Sofa or gym?’

‘Gym.’

‘Owl or lark?’

‘. . . Owl.’

‘Summer or winter?’

‘Summer.’

Her head tipped fractionally at that. He saw it and straightened up a little.

‘TV or book?’

‘Book.’

‘Book or film?’

‘Book.’

‘Lover or fighter?’

‘Fighter.’

‘Snow or surf?’

‘Both.’

She shook her head. ‘You have to choose.’

‘. . . Snow.’

She stared back at him. They both knew that was a lie.

‘Fine. Surf.’ He shifted position slightly.

‘Dog or cat?’

‘Dog.’

‘Aussie or Kiwi?’

‘Aussie.’

Another rejection of his father. ‘. . . Blonde or brunette?’

‘Brunette.’

Rejection of her. ‘. . . Love or hate?’

‘Hate.’

Her lips parted in surprise; no one answered with that. Was he trying to be unlikeable? ‘Glory in defeat? Or victory at any cost?’

His turn to be surprised. His eyes narrowed. He knew there was judgement in the wrong answer. ‘Victory at any cost.’

Clover stared at him. It was the answer people expected him to give, the one now forever attached to his name. But she wasn’t sure she believed it. He was answering from pure defiance. He was sticking two fingers up to her – and the wider world at large. His answers had told her he would lie with impunity, and that even when he told the truth, it would bring no emotion, no breakthrough. He didn’t care if people liked him; he didn’t care if they believed him. Unlike his sponsor, he had no interest in saving his own reputation.

She stared back at him, wanting just to hit him with it – drop Amy’s name like a bomb and watch him scramble for cover.

‘Tell me about your parents’ divorce,’ she said quietly, calmly. ‘Why did they separate?’

‘They forgot to love each other.’ It was a flippant answer.

‘From what others close to you have said, it seemed to have had a profound and lasting impact upon you.’

‘Not really. You get used to it pretty quickly – especially when it’s the best thing. I only wished it had happened earlier.’

‘You wanted your parents to separate?’

‘It was the best thing for everyone.’

She watched him, refusing to be rushed by his short, clipped answers. ‘Yes, often it is. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t suffer. Witnessing the breakdown of your parents’ relationship when you were just a young boy must have been traumatic.’

‘If you say so.’