‘I had better go. Where should I put this?’ she asked Tim. As she looked at him a smile broke out on his face.

‘Come here.’

He reached up and slid his hand under her hair; she flinched backwards a little until he cradled her head in his hand. He licked his thumb and placed his other hand on her cheek, sweeping away what she assumed was paint. She felt slightly limp. He gently removed his hand from her neck, and she felt as though she could fall straight backwards. Instead, she went back inside and upstairs.

She peeked out of her bedroom window when she got back to her room. He seemed so completely different to the man she had seen in town threatening that stranger. Maybe the other man had been asking for it – she didn’t know the full story. Either way, Tim’s behaviour was confusing her; one minute he was sweet and kind and at other times he was almost sinister. Jasmine felt like she had no choice but to keep an eye on him for now. He didn’t make any sense.

Chapter Thirteen

Now

I’m so torn between needing to know the truth and being afraid of it that I can barely sleep. Despite being warm in the day there is a wind outside in the night and it whips at the sea. I hear the faintest sound of a tree branch gently thumping against some guttering, almost like a tap on a door. I am standing in the dark looking outside, a small bottle of whisky in my hand, the third and final one from the minibar. I have all the lights off so I can see the outside better and not just my own reflection, my outline against the glass like a ghost. This place is full of ghosts, including me.

The front is empty now, no stragglers or ramblers, no dog walkers, no bohemian travellers. Just the promenade, the pebble beach and the sea. I remember in the winter how angry the sea used to be. How the town would gather after a heavy storm and fix what the storm had destroyed. In the past, walls had been pulled down, lamp posts felled, hotels flooded, windows broken, and all by water. Unless you witnessed it, it was hard to imagine, the tide coming in, crashing against the concrete jetties. It was a game to stand close to the edge and wait for a wave before we all ran away screaming and laughing, some of us not quite getting away in time to avoid the splash of salty water. I don’t think anyone really appreciated how dangerous it was; it was just a way to pass the time, a break in the routine.