‘Maybe. Anyway, that night Sheila was particularly quiet. She hardly spoke in the pub. She sat morosely in the corner, drinking. Although she didn’t act drunk. I asked her a few times what was up. Like I said, we weren’t close as such, but I’d got to know her a bit over the two years she was my neighbour. Sometimes she’d come up to my flat for a cup of tea. We’d talk a lot. Deep talks, really. About my sister dying and how she’d lost someone too. She didn’t say who. The night Sheila died she seemed jittery and on edge. Personally I always wondered if she was an ex-junkie. Very thin. Paranoid.’

‘Paranoid? About what?’

‘Convinced she was being followed. I often wondered if she owed money to her dealer or some such.’ He laughs. It’s deep and throaty like he’s getting over a bout of bronchitis. ‘I’m probably reading more into it all now, with hindsight. But she was cagey. That’s the right word.’

‘So what happened when you got to the beach that night?’

‘Sheila wandered off by herself. I asked her if she wanted any company but she shook me off, told me she was feeling maudlin, that she always did around New Year, and that she’d like to be on her own. Me and my mates were sitting and drinking and then I noticed Sheila was stripping off and getting into the sea. Mad, if you ask me.’ He shudders. ‘Bloody cold, the sea in December.’

Lorna grins. ‘I can imagine.’

‘I sat with a couple of my mates, sinking a few cans. We all got drunk and we forgot about Sheila. It was only later, when we started walking home, that we realized she wasn’t with us. My mate, Phil, and I ran back down to the beach, where she’d left her clothes but couldn’t see her in the sea. It was like she’d just been,’ he grimaces, ‘swallowed by the water.’

‘And that was when you raised the alarm?’

‘Yes. She obviously drowned. Maybe she’d drunk more than we knew. We felt terrible.’

‘That’s awful,’ says Lorna, and despite the heat of the day, she feels goose bumps pop up on her arms. The sea, as much as she loves it, has always terrified her. It’s like a mighty beast, and you never know what mood it’s going to be in. It deserves respect. ‘Do you think it was an accident or suicide?’