On October third, my seventeenth birthday, my alarm woke me early. The house was still asleep as I quickly pulled on my mother’s rainbow dress. I brushed my hair and applied mascara and a blush of lipstick. Mum was in the sitting room, curtains closed, the shape of her in the fold-up bed visible in the dawning light. There was a present on the kitchen table, wrapped in shiny paper, beside three envelopes with my mother’s writing on them and a chocolate cake covered with a domed fly net. Leaving everything on the table untouched, I grabbed my coat from the hook and opened the front door.

When I reached the rock I sat down to watch the house and wait. As soon as he appeared on the stairs I removed my coat and left it. Then I walked down to the path and through the creaking gate, across the lawn and up to the terrace. I faced the house, ignoring the chill, which covered my skin with goosebumps. When he came out of the kitchen he noticed me at once. My heart pounded as he unlocked the door. He walked onto the terrace and asked if I was all right. I told him it was my birthday and that I was more than old enough to leave home. Then I asked him if I could I stay for a while. He protested feebly, but I silenced him and told him he didn’t have to worry. I’d sleep in Edie’s room and, of course, would cook and clean to pay my way. I walked slowly towards him, using my body as I’d seen Edie do, and promised it would all be okay.

And it was.

Now, many years passed, Max comes out onto the terrace with the drink he’s just made. His hair is thinning, mostly white, fine and easily lifted by the onshore breeze. He limps a little, one knee not so good. He sits back down on his chair and rests the glass on the table beside the dog-eared bird book, the shadow of a single perfect tea-ring on its cover. He reaches for the binoculars and scans the sky, ready, I know, to call me when he spots something I’d like. On his feet are the same soft blue Italian leather shoes he’s always had. They are faded and worn now, but still his favourite.

He and I. Locked in this place together. Happy enough.

The sunlight catches the facets cut into his glass. I listen to the clink of ice cubes as he picks it up every now and then to drink. I lower the sunglasses on the top of my head, briefly lift my face into the last rays of the day, the dying sun still warm on my skin.

Then I stand.