A burst of ideas and potential surfaced in his mind. All the jobs he could do if he had money, people working for him.

He slammed the thoughts down. Or tried to. His mind never stopped. Anxiety and post-traumatic stress. Pre-traumatic stress. He was sorry for what he’d done, he was trying to rehabilitate, he didn’t want to go back to prison, with all the noise and the politics and the . . .

Focus on the future.

All he wanted in life now was a house of his own, a wife he could love, maybe a pet dog. To be allowed to dive again, bringing in a good honest income. Not driving a third-hand hatchback that was almost as old as he was and struggled to make it up Shacktown’s hills. Not dependant on opioids just to get through the day, or painkillers he’d built up a tolerance to.

Who was he kidding? There was no use planning for the future. He couldn’t do anything until his court case. Until he, most likely, returned to jail. And then he would have to wait until he was released. Which might be six months, or it might be seven years. It all depended on the mood of the judge on the day, and it’s not like anyone in his family was going to put in a good word for him . . .

And the prosecution had already told him they were pushing for as much prison time as possible.

No. Shut up. Just be happy with what you have.

There was no one to see him, but he forced a smile onto his face.

Bright. Firm. Real.

Endearing. He was Mackerel Dempsey, and he was reformed.

He limped towards Big Mane’s house, head held high, even though no one ever looked his way.

Big Mane’s house was squat and flat, made of dirty red brick, enclosed by conifer trees. Sleek A-frame beach homes ran alongside it, fresh and clean by comparison, but here in Shacktown a medley of different styles was commonplace. Rich and poor and everything in between, all were welcome in Shacktown.

Save for the mansions up in the hills, the neighbourhoods didn’t fall into easy categories. As the name suggested, it had begun as a town of shacks, and those shack owners were still fiercely protective of their real estate, even as the town grew around them and land prices rose.

The rising hills of the peninsula meant that seaside views were plenty, yet in certain locations around town there were sweet spots – postcard views of land, sand and sea all together. Rather than huddling in one area, the wealthy sea changers who came to Shacktown spread throughout the town, hunting these sweet spots.

These days, most of the old holidays shacks that had given the town its name had been renovated into year-round dwellings, some of which were so artsy and inviting they drew their own Instagram followers and Airbnb pilgrims.