‘Bugger,’ she muttered, knowing she’d have to follow suit. Carefully she scrambled down, with significantly less stealth and flair, cursing under her breath. And then, as her feet touched the sand, not under her breath, ‘Holy shit!’

If looking down upon it had been impressive, standing down and looking back up again was awe-inspiring. The cliff walls swooped around them like a vaulted hall, the walls scooped back as if by a melon baller, the late sun a smear down the far side and throwing a golden sunspot onto the calm, shallow body of water that rocked and shushed gently onto the beach.

‘This can’t be for real,’ she whispered. ‘Linus, are you remembering to breathe?’ she asked him, perfectly serious. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten to inhale and exhale when he’d been surprised. He’d once fainted when he’d thought he’d seen Lionel Messi walking past his school window. ‘. . . Linus?’

But if he was breathing, he certainly wasn’t listening; he was staring at something. She followed his gaze to find a man sitting on a rock at the far end of the beach, staring back at them.

No one spoke. It was perfectly obvious who he was. Hanna’s husband. Linus’s father.

She felt her heart rate trip and quicken as he got up and began walking towards them.

The man who had screamed from that hospital bed. The villain of the piece, putting his needs first.

Silhouetted, he raked a hand through his hair. The hair that her own fingers had combed. A baseball cap in his hand.

He stopped in front of them. The very last person she had wanted to see again. To see here.

Here.

Bell realized she was the one forgetting to breathe, her body reacting to the sight of him with a visceral shock. This was a disaster – it couldn’t be him. He couldn’t be Hanna’s ex. Linus’s father.

His eyes cast lightly over her with the same surprised zip of recognition, but then something else too, something she couldn’t quite grasp . . . But he looked away in the next instant; this moment wasn’t about her, or their stolen night together. His gaze settled heavily on Linus, weighted like an anchor.

She felt the moment swell and tighten as father and son looked at one another, both so changed and grown even from their last, disastrous meeting. She saw Linus’s shock at his father’s altered appearance. Gone were the shaved head and withered limbs, the sunken eyes and papery skin. The man before him now was tall and lithe; he had muscles and a suntan; he even had a few freckles on the bridge of his nose – like Linus. His trousers were rolled up at the ankles, but they were still wet, showing off brown feet. He looked well. He looked normal, nothing like the half-man, half-beast in that hospital bed.

A look that could only be described as wonder bloomed on his face. His eyes were shining, his mouth parted as he scanned his child almost like a robot, taking in all the changes, developments, likenesses, differences . . . His right hand was hovering forwards slightly and she knew he wanted to reach out and touch him. That he did not dare.