‘It’s not the same, Richard, and you know that. I can’t remember the last time you had a day off. Surely—’

‘But if I’d been conscripted, I wouldn’t be here at all, would I? I could be on the other side of the world.’

He’d moved to put his arm around her, but instead she passed Henry to him, her arms now crossed tightly as they walked along the front, a gap between them.

‘You know I’ve been feeling so miserable ever since Henry was born. You keep telling me to snap out of it, but it’s really not that easy. If only you were around more. Will you at least promise me you’ll try?’

He was walking in the same spot now: the sudden dip in the pavement and the boarded-up café with a rusted ice cream sign swaying noisily in the breeze. They’d seemed to move further away from each other and he’d failed to answer. Jane had looked across at him, angry, tears welling in her eyes.

‘Are you listening? I asked whether you could be around more. Surely that’s not too much to ask, is it?’

He could feel the tears filling his own eyes now. Why on earth had he not answered and told her he was sorry and of course he’d do his best to be around more? He could even have told her he loved her and that he understood how she felt. Maybe he should have said he’d try and take a week’s leave, though he had no idea as to how he could have managed that. But at least it would have cheered her up. Instead he said nothing for quite a while, until the silence became too awkward.

‘You know I can’t say that, darling. I can’t possibly promise something I may not be able to do.’

She shrugged and said nothing. They walked on a bit further, gathered up the children and drove home. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember whether they’d said anything to each other that evening. What he could remember was spotting her in the gloom of the front room. She was unaware of him watching her as she poured a very large measure of whisky, quickly followed by another. The following morning he’d left for work even before the children woke up, and it was that afternoon when one of his colleagues had appeared alongside his desk and told him about the accident that had killed Jane and Grace.

Since that day he’d avoided Mablethorpe. He had hoped that being back there might at last give him some peace of mind. But instead it had made him feel worse. The place was haunted with ghosts who would never go away.