‘Seventy-five grams of flour and seventy-five millilitres of water, like the recipe said. It’s supposed to have bubbles. Lots of them. Mine just looks like thick milk.’

‘How about I take a look when we get back?’

‘If you like,’ Hannah said grudgingly. She couldn’t imagine what he could do differently. According to the others, their starters had doubled in size and Jason’s had foamed out of the top of the jar.

While they’d been walking, the sun had gradually sunk, tingeing the grey clouds with a pinky-peach glow and spreading a golden shadow across the sea that rippled into the shore. Now, as it dipped behind the roller coaster horizon of the hills, they stopped to watch the final shimmer of light disappear, leaving the shadows to deepen and lengthen, changing the outlines of the rocks and altering the colour of the sea as the sparkle on its surface faded away.

They sat on the dunes, each in quiet contemplation. A few persistent surfers rode into shore and picked up their boards, their dark shapes silhouetted by the twilight.

‘Until tomorrow,’ murmured Conor, ‘when we start all over again. A fresh start and a clean slate.’

‘That’s a lovely thought.’ Hannah gazed around her, at the redshanks dipping in and out of the water, at the white surf rolling and frothing, at the wheeling seagulls gliding away out to sea on thermals as if packing up and leaving for the day, at her fingers running through the damp sand, catching at the spiky, coarse grass of the dunes. The simple, stark beauty almost stopped her heart. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this content. Just to be.

Chapter Fifteen

As the water trickled into the bath, she looked again at the time on her phone and sighed. Having a bath in the morning really slowed things down. There’d been no sound from behind Conor’s door this morning and she wasn’t about to wake him up to ask to use his shower.

At eight she was due back on chicken duty and, funnily enough, was looking forward to seeing her new feathered friends. What she wasn’t looking forward to was a flipping bath. She was a shower-in-the-morning girl. Baths seemed too wallowy and decadent for this time of the day when there was stuff to be done. With bad grace she bathed and dried herself, the itch of grumpiness scratching at her. OK, she wasn’t a morning person either, which normally didn’t matter as she had solitude. Everything was perfect before Conor moved in.

‘Did you want something?’ She jumped as his door opened and he found her standing there talking to herself – admittedly inside her head, but all the same she must have looked like a mad one.

‘Er, no. Just going downstairs.’

He followed her down. ‘Nice bath.’