‘All right?’ the man on deck was smiling at her as if he knew her. Ty’s Uncle Mike, greyer and thinner than the last time she’d seen him.

‘Hi. Is Tyler about?’

The man nodded and vanished into the cabin. Then Ty appeared, head down as his uncle said something Kym couldn’t hear, and clapped him on the back, as if he was congratulating him. He climbed the ladder onto the quayside and shepherded her away from the boat and the men.

Even in his work gear, which was worn and faded, he looked good, tanned, fit. Away from his mates he seemed less of a boy, more the man he was going to be, and it was as strong as ever, that tug she felt deep in her belly, that connection which was a combination of affection and habit, and more recently, lust. The connection that wouldn’t do either of them any good, in the end.

‘I’m at work,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, Ty. I think they can spare you for five minutes.’

Seagulls dipped and swooped over the boat as she shifted lazily on the tide.

‘You know what your trouble is? You’re a bloody snob.’

‘Shouldn’t you at least be pretending to be revising?’

‘And now you sound like my dad.’ He watched the men gathering up their rods and climbing down onto the boat. ‘I’m busy, Kym, I don’t have time to talk.’

‘You should answer your phone, then.’

‘Like you answer yours?’

‘Last night,’ said Kym, ‘what the hell were you playing at?’

‘Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything.’ He wouldn’t look her in the eye, though.

‘Don’t give me that – I heard you, banging at the door, trying to freak us out—’

‘What? What us?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Your mum? You think I’ve been having a go at you and your mum? What’s been going on?’

‘No.’ She sighed, tried to slow down. ‘I was at Elder House—’

‘And I bet you loved that—’

‘I was babysitting someone, Ty. We were all alone and then you started battering at the doors. She’s just a kid and you freaked her out—’

‘Oh, piss off. No.’ He stepped back, and he looked – relieved. ‘I don’t know what this is – but no. Not me. I—’ He stopped. ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’

‘No. Hang on.’ She grabbed him by the arm. ‘Really? I mean – not even for, like, a joke?’

‘How would I know where you were last night? On any night?’

‘I don’t know. You could have asked my mum, or – followed me—’

‘Fucksake.’ He pulled away, shoving his fists into his pockets. ‘You really need to get over yourself.’