Clover became aware Johnny had come over and was standing right in front of her, his bare feet on the wet tiles, one hand resting lightly on her arm, looking down at her with a look of open alarm. ‘So then they’ll find him and bring him home.’

‘No . . . you’re not hearing me.’ Mia crumbled in the face of her stoicism, all her reserves gone. ‘It’s heavy out there today. The coastguards have told me to prepare myself, Clo. They’re looking for a body. Cory’s dead.’ A sound left her body unlike anything Clover had ever heard. ‘My husband is dead!’

The water heaved and sighed beneath them, glittering and tranquil beneath a cloudless sky. The storm had been and gone, blown itself out in a fury that left trees toppled in its wake, power lines down, and a body on the beach.

Giving them closure, at least.

By the time her plane had landed in San Francisco and she had made the journey to Half Moon Bay, the storm had been at full pitch – the wind ferocious, bending the palm trees to its will, whipping the water into mountainous peaks that toppled and crashed every few seconds, deafening, thunderous, terrifying the hundreds of onlookers safe on the shore.

The beaches had become so packed as news of the search spread, police had been forced to close off the local roads and it had taken forty minutes before she could get hold of Mia on the phone and be allowed through to their bungalow at the head of the bay. The two women had hugged in anguished silence. What was there to say? There was no hope to cling to, no comfort to find from this, nothing to counter the sight of Cory’s three young sons, standing tense and erect on the scrap of lawn overlooking the ocean, watching the activity on the water as pro surfers and lifeguards, jet ski teams and the coastguard scoured the clear water between the wave sets for their father’s body.

By the time the ocean spat him out, the storm had spent itself and now picture-postcard conditions had returned. The surf – though always imposing there – was without snarling menace once more, families back playing on the beach, the familiar line-up of surfers sitting on their boards, waiting their turn.