Rob was pushing himself to the limit. Every night when he got home, his body burned with the day’s effort. Each day, he worked until his lungs were ready to pop like balloons. Ned, who in the beginning had been humming bars from Fixing a Hole whenever Rob rolled up in the mornings, had lately turned to A Hard Day’s Night. Rob supposed he was working like a dog, almost like a man possessed, which he thought was good description for how he felt. He was working to rid himself of something, something that had haunted him for years. But no matter how hard he worked, no matter how exhausted he was when he fell into bed at night, he still woke in the grey dawn light to think of what he had wanted, and what he had lost.

Now Rob wondered if he was dreaming. Had he worked himself into such a state that he was hallucinating? But no, there was the green rental car, sitting placidly below, as though it had not delivered a huge shock ten minutes before.

He hadn’t been able to react, so strong was his surprise. Elle’s appearance had sent a wave of feeling over him, the kind he had been trying to avoid since she left. He felt confused, sad, and angry. Angry at himself for being unable to forget her, angry at her for being the thing that he couldn’t forget. He was afraid that if he moved at all, he would step right off the roof.

So he worked on, the sea moving endlessly behind him. He wished he could borrow some of its constancy and sameness. What had happened to his life since Elle came back into it? He had, over the years, fashioned a life that he was content with, like a sculptor slowly, carefully, chipping away at a block of marble until something was revealed beneath it. His life was simple, and it was this simplicity that he needed and sought refuge in. He had his work, his dogs, his friends and for a long time he had believed this was enough. His association with the Harte family had been painful at first, but had become necessary to him. He had been able to go long stretches without thinking of Elle, but when thoughts of her did creep up they were painful and all-consuming. He thought of these jags of memory as a kind of illness he had to get through, a seasonal bout of the flu.

But since her return to the town for Anna’s funeral, it had seemed that there was no way through his thoughts of her. No way under, over or around. A maddening riddle.

And now she was back. It almost felt like pouring salt water over the wound. At whatever cost, he had to keep his feelings to himself.