He handed it to her and took her hand. Looking straight into her eyes, he asked, ‘Are you happy here?’

Nicole shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘Don’t guess. Know.’

He turned and closed the door to the boatshed.

It was a simple question – was she happy here – but Nicole knew it was an important one. So much depended on its answer.

A hint of a smile crossed Charlie’s face as he watched her go. Once she was out of sight, he moved round the boatshed slowly to the bench. He sat on the left side, as he always did, and conjured an image of Ivy sitting beside him – her wild hair blowing in the breeze, her bare feet tracing abstract shapes in the dirt, her warm green eyes smiling at him as they always did. He was now the same age as she was back then, thereabouts anyway, and the irony of that wasn’t lost on him.

He wanted to reach out and touch Ivy’s cheek, the same way he’d wanted to back then, but couldn’t. She would never have seen him as anything other than a soul to save, and he’d accepted that. He would never have touched her so. Never dared. And not because of their difference in age, though that was significant enough, but because he wasn’t worthy of her love. He knew how lucky he’d been to have her care for him in any way at all. That was enough and more than he was due. Men like him didn’t get second chances. Especially not with women as special as Ivy.

‘She’s looking after the place just fine,’ he said to the ethereal image beside him. ‘She’s got your feistiness about her.’

He shook his head and smiled.

‘She’s doing up the cottage real good so far as I can tell and it won’t be long before she’ll be able to fix this place up, too,’ he waved his hand at the boatshed behind him.

‘I’m sorry I let you down, but I’m setting it right now.’

He turned his head to the water and watched the waves.

‘I’ve just got to see one more thing through.’

He turned back to look at Ivy, but saw only the wooden seat beside him.

The morning of the painting bee arrived and with it Nicole’s nerves. Soon everyone would be here, including Danny.

A familiar yodel sounded from the front door. Mandy and Trevor had arrived.

They brought with them brushes and rollers, as arranged, and bowls and plates of salads and sandwiches. Many bowls and plates.

‘Painting’s hungry work,’ Mandy said as she distributed the food among the shelves in the fridge and across the bench space.

Jack walked in carrying an esky and Mandy directed him to put it on the floor next to the fridge.