‘What about going into Canterbury? You’ll be able to get more for your money there.’

‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘But the children are so used to being close to the beach and I have to say that I feel a real affinity to the sea too.’ She looks at me. ‘I guess that comes with being a New Yorker. You never want to be too far away from the water.’

I smile. I hadn’t ever thought of it like that before, but she may have a point, as I’ve never lived more than a mile or two from the shoreline. And there’s no doubt that, for one reason or another, Leon and I were inextricably drawn here.

He was adamant he didn’t want to return to his hometown of Manchester, so it was a case of closing our eyes and pointing to somewhere on the map; a bit like pinning the tail on the donkey, and Whitstable, luckily for us, was the donkey’s ass.

‘Although you were nearer than me back then,’ Anna goes on. ‘You must have been on the beach all the time, living on Long Island?’

‘We used to go to Jones Beach,’ I say.

‘With your family?’ asks Anna.

I nod, as I remember Dad burying Jennifer and me up to our necks in the sand, and Mom laughing as we thrashed our way out and ran down the beach after him.

‘That must have left you with such special memories,’ she says.

‘It was the only time my sister and I were allowed a Slush Puppie,’ I say, smiling. ‘Mum would beckon to us in the ocean and we’d race each other out of the water to the kiosk to see who could get the bluest tongue.’

Anna laughs. ‘I remember them, weren’t they called Blue Raspberry or something? Like, when have you ever seen a blue raspberry?’

‘Exactly.’

‘What did your family think of you coming over here?’ she asks.

An involuntary tic pulsates in my jawline, giving away more than I want. ‘Oh, you know what families are like,’ I say nonchalantly. ‘They don’t want you to go, then forget about you as soon as you’ve left.’ I force a laugh because I have no idea what my family think of me emigrating to another country. Because I no longer have a family. At least I didn’t until yesterday.

9

There’s a feeling of trepidation swirling around my stomach this morning, mimicked by the draining bath water as I pull the plug out. I watch transfixed as the undercurrent drags the soap suds down into a spinning whirlpool and imagine my insides snaking in the same way.

As soon as I get those first uncomfortable few minutes with Jacob under my belt, I know I’ll be fine. But not knowing how he’s going to play it has kept me up most of the night.