As a child I used to think the sea had a wall. The idea that it could be limitless was unfathomable. I dreamed of swimming powerfully all the way to that wall, touching the smooth tile of it, and swimming back. I was scared of sharks and other sea beasts, but I knew it was possible. When floods came, when the sea raged, I wanted to say, ‘But if you could only keep going, you’ll touch a wall.’

Blake leaves Lucia to join me in the shade. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he says. We look at her together. This large child with inviolable arms and legs. She turns to look at us. All teeth. Her mouth spread wide with joy. The waves keep hitting her, pulling her out of her trench. ‘Get back, Lucy,’ I warn.

A huge wave unfastens her. She tumbles forward, and for a second she is lost. Blake is already in the water, reaching for her. He’s taken hold of her wrist and is pulling her up out of a tornado of spume. She is snorting, giggling, wiping the sand from her eyes. ‘Again,’ she says, ‘again.’

‘It’s not a game,’ I yell. ‘You’re too far out. Blake, bring her in.’

He convinces her to sit with him closer to the shore. I look at them sitting side by side, fingers laced together.

Days pass by, lazy, unhurried. In the afternoons when everything is too warm we go into our rooms and lie under fans. The dogs find spots near the sprinklers in the garden where the ground is cool and wet. They lie curled like abalones, nose to paws.

I keep hearing Ma. It’s as if she’s down by the gate, locked outside, wandering around in a state of dementia, shouting. She’s like that woman Blake and I once saw in Charlotte, who asked us if we were running out of people. Lost, confused, tapping at car windows, grimacing. I hear her all the time. ‘Have you never lost anyone, then?’ But it’s Ma’s voice. Soft, then urgent. She’s always calling my name. I run out on the terrace, scalding the undersides of my feet, peering over the ledge, and of course, it’s nothing – only the casuarinas, their windswept topiaries petrified into a kind of silence. The sea murmuring.

We drink tea with biscuits at four. The dogs wait patiently for their treats. When they hear the crackle of the Milk Bikis packet they start drooling. I pop creamy rectangles into their hungry mouths. ‘Those are going to rot their teeth, don’t you know?’ Blake says. ‘Don’t you ever feel suffocated?’ he asks.