‘Hi. Is…’ She hesitated, wrong-footed by his disregard. ‘Is Tamsyn in?’

‘She’s not allowed to see anyone.’

‘Is she okay?’

He raised his head and looked at her. ‘No, she’s really sick. With an infection.’

Edie remembered how hot she had been, how her eyes had moved in and out of focus, how she had lost consciousness for a few moments before she’d tried to kiss her.

‘The tattoo went bad.’

‘Oh my God,’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say. ‘Will she be okay?’

‘She will be now.’

Edie stared at him. His arm that rested against the door was circled with leather and his muscles were accentuated by his tight black T-shirt. He was unbearably good-looking and she realised how much she’d missed seeing him every day.

‘And I definitely can’t say a quick hello to her?’

‘Not for a week.’

Edie nodded. She was about to turn away, but then stopped herself, nerves tumbling again. ‘Will you tell her I said sorry. And not just for the tattoo.’

‘Why? What did you do?’

She hesitated again as she saw a flash of Tamsyn’s distraught face. ‘Something happened. I handled it wrong and hurt her. I didn’t mean to.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. She gets upset. It’s sort of her thing.’

His voice was gentle but there was a clear note of protectiveness. Edie pulled at her sleeve and cleared her throat. ‘I should get back.’

He nodded and held her stare as she took a couple of steps backwards. He didn’t move and it was only when she turned away that she heard the door close.

As Edie walked back down Queen Street she considered returning. What excuse could she have to knock again? To ask him something – anything – so she could look at him some more.

She turned onto the main road that led back to the cliff path at Cape Cornwall. The waves beat out a rhythmic thump in the distance. The gulls cried. She looked up. Squinted into the sun. Watched one of them circling high in the sky.

‘Hey,’ said a voice.

She opened her eyes and looked to her side, but the figure was lost in momentary sun-blindness. She shielded her face and Jago came into focus. He stopped, bent his head, and lit a cigarette.

Her heart skipped a beat.

‘Do you want a lift back on the bike? Save you the walk.’

She thought of her mother, of how she looked down on anybody who owned a motorbike, and smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d love that.’

‘I’ll finish my smoke first. You want one?’ He held out his tobacco and she took it. ‘Mum won’t let me smoke in the cottage. Says it’s not good for my grandad’s lungs.’