“But… ” Ava sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling the blankets off Finn. “Where would we fit everything?”

“We’d have the bunk beds on one side,” said Finn. “That’s the bedroom. And a table on the other side. That’s the dining room. And a little cooking stove at the back. That’s the kitchen. And we can cook outside on the beach whenever it’s not raining.”

“But what about the bathroom?” Ava was chewing her thumbnail, frowning with concentration.

“We could get one of those toilets they have in caravans and put it in a little tent.”

“They get full up.”

“We could empty it at the toilet-block. You know the one at the top of the beach? And we could swim in the sea to get clean.”

“What about washing clothes?”

“We could go to one of those places with those massive washing machines. You know, the shop ones.”

“Oh my God,” said Ava.

“You’re not supposed to say Oh my God.”

“Oh my bloody sodding God,” said Ava.

“So what do you think?”

Ava grinned. “We could have bookshelves on the walls.”

“And folding chairs to sit in. And a biscuit tin with only nice biscuits in, no malted milks or fruit shortbreads ever.”

“And we’ll dig a fire-pit and fill it with driftwood and bake potatoes in the embers and have them with sausages cooked on sticks.”

“And will you go swimming?”

“Yes. Every day and every night.”

“But won’t it be too dark to see?”

“I’ll swim by moonlight.” Finn shifted restlessly in the bed beside her, and she stroked his forehead gently. “And when there isn’t any moon you’ll have to come and hold a torch so I don’t forget which way the land is.”

“You promise you won’t drown?”

“I won’t ever drown,” Ava told him. “Promise. Once we get our beach hut, we’ll be together for always.”

Chapter Four: Now

Donald tramped across the sand and wished he had a uniform. Not a police uniform necessarily, a parking-warden would do it, a jumper with an embroidered council logo maybe, maybe just a badge on a lariat around his neck. Just something that would make him seem more like a man with a job to do and less like a…

Like an interfering wanker, he thought, despising himself for his weakness. A decade ago he hadn’t needed the signs and signifiers of authority. Just him and his backbone were all he’d needed to get done what needed doing. And it was time he remembered that, because he was on his own with his crusade. Despite the murmurs around the bar and the mutters in the street and the shaken heads over shop counters, no-one else seemed inclined to deal with it. How could they all be so indifferent? Everything about the beach hut filled him with rage.

Maybe they simply trusted him to sort it out? One of those mysterious assignments of responsibility that happened without anyone saying a word. He’d noticed the same thing when it came to the town fete. Perhaps some local junta had met in a room somewhere and decreed, Yep, Donald’s the man to deal with those beach hut nutters. He’s got the experience and he knows how to handle himself. Everyone concentrate hard and send out those vibrations. He’ll be down there in a week giving them what-for…