She sounded exhilarated, unaffected by what we’d witnessed. My head rang with the screams of his mother. The sight of his father weeping. The exhausted lifeguard desperately trying to expel the water from the child’s saturated lungs and fill them with air. I couldn’t speak. My whole body tumbled with fear and emotion and I trembled uncontrollably. With every step I worried I might collapse. I couldn’t clear my mind. All I could see was the boy laid out on the sand. His limp limbs. Mouth filled with water and weed. Beside him my father’s lifeless body flickering in and out of focus. I tried to block it out. Breathed deeply. Focused on the words I’d been told at his funeral – God knows who by – that drowning was the best way to die.

Like dreaming. Painless and peaceful. Just slipping away.

They lied. That boy hadn’t looked peaceful. He’d looked weak and broken, the wrong colour, battered and twisted having done battle with the sea.

‘Are you okay?’

I held back my tears and nodded.

‘It’ll be nice to get back for a swim,’ she said. ‘It’s so damn hot.’

We walked back in silence. Edie strode ahead. I dragged behind. I couldn’t comprehend how she was so unshaken. Was this what they taught them at boarding school? Taught them to be tough and without emotion. Army officers, politicians, heads of business, and Edie Davenport, all of them blessed with the ability to handle any situation without batting an eyelid?

The walk up from the beach was a steep one, hot and sticky, and I couldn’t seem to stop shaking. I had to keep reminding myself the boy was fine. He didn’t drown. He was safe with his parents, wrapped up on his mother’s lap, people around him all fussing and loving and thanking God. But it was only when we got back to The Cliff House, when I stepped onto the lawn, that my trembling body began to calm. The gate clanged shut and as it did I felt safer, the clamp around my stomach easing, my breaths coming more steadily.

Jago was still working on the fence. He was shirtless with his top tucked into his waistband. His tanned torso shone with a film of sweat highlighting his muscles which flexed beneath his skin as he rubbed the railings back and forth.

‘Hey,’ Edie said as we neared him. ‘Looks like hot work.’

‘It’s okay.’ He glanced at her briefly but then looked at me. ‘Mum’s gone home. I can give you a lift when I’m done here.’ Then his face fell in concern. ‘Hey,’ he said, stepping towards me, his hand resting on my arm. ‘What’s up? You’re white as a sheet.’