I smiled. They were good together, Tina and Steve. I thought again of how it would have been if I’d walked Lumin into school with Dylan, her father. My stomach turned. I’d been regretting it more and more lately, not telling him about her … and her about him.

A man appeared on the beach, walking across our shot. He was holding a camcorder and stood right in front of me, filming the ducks.

‘Bloody twitchers,’ Steven hissed, so loud the man clearly heard.

He turned to look at us. ‘It’s a free country,’ he shouted, staying resolutely where he was. I hitched the camera up, trying to get a shot without him in it as Steve stormed over to him.

‘This is our work,’ I heard him say. ‘Not some holiday video. That’s an award-winning documentary-maker whose filming you just ruined, you know,’ he added, pointing at me. ‘There’s plenty of beach,’ he said, gesturing around him at the vast expanse of icy sand. ‘Go find a patch where you’re not getting in our shot.’

‘An award-winning documentary-maker?’ the man said, peering over at me.

Steve puffed his chest out. ‘She worked with the legend that is Reginald Carlisle. She was his prodigy. Did lots of stuff with him for the BBC.’

The man’s eyes lit up. ‘He is a legend! In fact, he’s my hero. Can I interview you for my blog?’ he called over to me.

‘Erm, I don’t know …’

‘Sure!’ Steve said, bringing the man over. ‘Be sure to mention my company though, Peterson Productions,’ he said, digging a card out and handing it to the man.

‘I’d rather not do an interview,’ I said. Steve looked disappointed.

‘What about a photo?’ the man asked

Steve pleaded with me with his eyes. ‘Just a photo,’ I relented.

The man smiled, pulled a camera from his bag. ‘So will we be able to see this documentary on TV?’

‘This isn’t for a documentary,’ I said. ‘We’re taking stock footage for Steve’s business.’

‘But I thought you said she was a documentary-maker?’ the man asked Steve.

‘I used to film documentaries, before I had my daughter and moved here,’ I explained.

‘Ah, I see. So, if you can just hold your camera like you were a few moments ago and film the ducks, that would be great.’

I reluctantly did as he asked, giving him my name, which he scribbled into his notepad. Then he gave an excited thanks before jogging off down the beach.

‘You didn’t look like you enjoyed that,’ Steve said as we packed up later.

‘I don’t like the idea of being splashed all over the World Wide Web.’

‘Don’t worry, not that many people even look at those weblogs. I bet this interwebs thing will die a death in a few years, another one of those silly fads.’

‘Good,’ I said, carefully placing my camera in its bag.