‘Yeah, I could do that. I could go to the Highlands or something, get a council house somewhere rural. I haven’t got the financial security to be able to do something like this, obviously. Buy a yoga retreat for my fancyman. My lumberjack.’

The wine was moving in Xanthe now – they didn’t drink much, she and Nikolas, and certainly not during guest season.

‘Right, this is what I mean. This whole grudge thing you’ve got going with me because I had a more privileged upbringing. Don’t think I’m not aware of it. None of the old “comrades” ever let me forget it, darling, and you won’t ever either, will you now. You can’t ever look past that to see the person I am, you’re always thinking of me as a symbol. No getting over those bloody great chips on your shoulders that I’m not supposed to mention, am I? Know what? I know you’ve all had a much harder life than me. I know that. But it doesn’t diminish my ability to feel hurt, or pain, or to need to retreat from them in order to preserve my own sanity, that of my daughter—’

Clio’s eyes went sly, cunning, sleek at the corners. She was very drunk, Xanthe realized, must have been drinking in her room before coming over.

‘Right. It doesn’t diminish your ability to feel your own pain. But other people, you’d just rather not think about their pain any more? Is that right?’

‘I did my battling. I put in my time. I just – it’s exhausting, Clio. What you’re describing, waking up angry every day at the state of the world, wanting to fight – nobody can go on and on doing that, indefinitely. Don’t you ever get tired of it? Don’t you ever think, right, that’s it, enough, I’m done now?’

‘No. Because if everyone did that, there wouldn’t be any point in keeping on going. The world would harden. The bastards would have won.’

Clio stood up – she was clearly going to be the one who got to walk off. Let her, let her, Xanthe thought.

‘I see how you’ve done it, Xanthe. Thank you. You’ve taught me your ways and I don’t want them – couldn’t afford them even if I did. Those of us who were born in the fight can’t ever close our eyes to it, you know. You go on with yourself, my fine lady. Be unbothered. Be switched off. It’s not for the likes of me.’

Xanthe watched her go, struggling across the sand, then picked herself up and went to bed, ignoring Nikolas. At 3 a.m., a quad bike from town roared down the road, stopping and growling outside the apartments, and someone made noisy theatre of stomping back up the stairs, slamming their door.