The tide is out – is it ever really in on this beach? I close my eyes, trying to recapture those hours with Casey and Gemma and her family. Not only what I saw and heard, but how it felt. Why did this flat stretch of sand seem so spectacular then, but so ordinary now?

Then I was with people. Now I’m alone.

Alone. I think of all the songs people have written about this state. I’d laughed them off for years. Alone didn’t have to mean lonely, I insisted. It meant you could choose to do what you wanted, be independent, spontaneous.

It meant you wouldn’t be hurt, or hurt anyone else.

But now I’ve experienced togetherness, I realize I’ve been kidding myself. I was – I am – lonely.

And I don’t want to be.

On Saturday I let myself be a part of a family. And despite my lack of experience, I didn’t suck at it. I responded to them like they responded to me. I guess I’ve always seen families as mysterious entities, with rules I don’t understand.

But they are just collections of people, good and bad.

As I walk, I make heavy footprints along the wet shore. Haven’t I learned how to be good with people, through work and friends? Is it possible I might have what Sue at work calls highly developed interpersonal skills?

OK, I don’t understand the first thing about babies, but neither does Gemma. What if we could learn together? If I love her – and I’m starting to believe I do – then it doesn’t matter whether the baby has my genes or not.

I’ve walked further than I planned. The footprints behind me have disappeared, as the tide reclaims its territory. I take off my trainers, and the cool sea water feels so delicious on my soles that I break into a jog.

As my feet slap against the sand and my breathing speeds up, everything comes into sunlit focus. I have to try one last time with Casey and Gemma – and Angelica too. Admit to my flaws, and resolve to be better.

I’ve done things I am ashamed of, and even when I’ve tried not to hurt people by keeping my distance I’ve ended up causing damage.

But I don’t have to be that way for ever.

It’s only by facing up to my mistakes, and saying sorry, that I can take away the power the past has had over all of us.

The slow traffic driving back towards the city centre makes me thump the steering wheel in frustration. I want to get on with putting things right.

As I drive the jeep into the underground car park, I get this chilling premonition of driving straight out again. No. I’ve got to believe I can get them to listen, to prove I’m changing.

The penthouse lift purrs, and one of the geckos on the tropical wallpaper seems to stare me out: you don’t belong. How could anyone have believed that I live here?