That was why Cory had walked into a stormy sea. He had been as much a part of this landscape as the cliffs and the ocean itself. He belonged to it. There was no moving on for him. Mia had told her, in the quiet hours since getting here, how she’d pleaded with Cory for them to not just move house, but move state. Start over properly and find somewhere landlocked, with no coastline, no surf to torment him with what could never be. But salt water was his oxygen, that was what he’d told her. He could no sooner ‘live in the dry’ than a landed fish. In the end, he hadn’t even tried.

Throwing the sheets back with a sigh, she got up. Sleep was like a nervous bird tonight, nowhere close to landing on her yet; she could feel the day’s high emotions still flickering like dying flames through her veins. Opening her bedroom door a crack, she peered out into the open-plan kitchen-living space, seeing the long shadows across the wooden floor. The tap was dripping. A skateboard was poking out from under the sofa, a wet beach towel bunched on one of the bar stools.

She went over to pick it up and spread it out along the back of a chair to dry, her gaze falling inevitably to the scene outside. The ocean was a midnight ribbon sparkling below a full moon, the trees like cathedral spires, throwing inky spines on the grass.

One shadow in particular – soft and round – caught her eye. She stopped and watched for several seconds, then, grabbing a throw from the sofa, slid open the back door and tiptoed past the rack of surfboards propped against the wall. Mia was sitting on the grass in a vest and knickers, hugging her knees. Her skin was blue-tinted in the moonlight, her blonde hair a regal silver. She looked like an angel.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Clover asked quietly, her voice little more than a whisper.

Mia didn’t startle. As ever now, it seemed to take several seconds before she registered the question. She turned her head with a sad smile.

Clover put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You’re cold. Here.’ She draped the throw over Mia’s bare skin, sinking onto the grass beside her.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, both watching a container ship bound for . . . who knew? . . . tracking a steady course along the horizon. It was soon out of sight.

‘Today was beautiful,’ Clover said finally.

‘. . . Yes. Yes, it was,’ Mia said slowly, like the words were being pulled out of her on a thread. ‘He would have loved it.’

‘For sure.’