She shrugs. ‘You can’t see anything through this mist, and anyway, I don’t care anymore. They can get their kicks if they want to.’

But he leads her round the back of the rock so they’ll still be hidden when the mist clears.

He sits down and she sits beside him. He strokes her cheek. She rests her forehead against his. He tilts his head so he can kiss her. He feels free. Like a boy again. The weight of the world lifted off his shoulders. All he’s aware of is his heart hammering and the ache in the centre of him which makes him want to consume her whole.

He strokes her cheek. Kisses the tip of her nose. Her forehead. Her chin. She closes her eyes, waits for him to kiss her, her mouth a perfect Cupid’s bow like the lips a child would draw on a princess, curved and coloured in carefully with a rose-pink pencil. He presses his mouth to them.

They lie down at the base of the rock and kiss with eager lips. They are so immersed in each other that when they finally draw apart they discover night has fallen around them. It’s dark and they laugh and wonder aloud how they didn’t even notice.

Then she leans forward. Her mouth by his ear. Whispered breath warm on his skin. ‘Jay?’

‘Yes,’ he murmurs.

‘I’d like to have sex with you.’

He doesn’t answer in case he misheard her.

‘Do you want to as well?’

He hesitates, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s worried he’ll sound too keen and betray the fact that making love to her is all he’s thought about since he first laid eyes on her. ‘Yes,’ he rasps.

When they kiss again, there’s an overwhelming urgency in both of them. His hands push up under her shirt. Up towards her breasts. No bra. Her nipples stiffen under his touch. His body jolts.

‘Stop,’ she says. He drops his hands from her, leans back, opens his mouth to apologise for moving too fast. She stills him with her finger against his lips. ‘Not here.’

Then she laughs and it sounds like a peal of bells.

They stand. She takes his hand and they walk quickly along the path. The mist swirls around them and the sea roars. Fingers stroking, playing. His stomach starts to boil with nerves and anticipation, and as it does self-doubt seeps into him.

Eleanor Davenport’s voice rings in his ears as she pushed the fence money into his hands. Told him not to come back. Told him he wasn’t good enough.

I can see why she’d be tempted.

The strong white walls of her house emerge out of the mist which has started to fade and catch the muted moonlight. Edie pulls him down towards the gate.

‘Not your house.’ he says. ‘Your mother. I—’