‘Because I should have known you, Fleur. That is the tragedy.’

‘Mum…’ She turned to her father. Peter saw Fleur could only cope with so much at one time and this wasn’t the moment for Laura’s unburdening.

Laura immediately saw this too. ‘Darling, I’m sorry. We’ll talk another time. We must have everything ready for Nikki and Jack. What time are they due?’

‘Not until about five p.m. Sam will drive to meet them. I’m going to take breakfast to the men up at the summer house now and see how they’re getting on. See you both later…’

Fleur backed out of the room and ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. She gathered up the basket with flasks of coffee and bacon rolls and flew out into the overcast morning. She took huge gulps of air and made herself observe everything around her as she walked, trying to drag her mind away from so many conflicting emotions, trying to ignore the knot of pain which never lay far away from the surface.

As she climbed to the flower meadow she could hear the sound of voices and hammering and someone singing. She looked around her at the vast swathe of uncultivated land sloping down to the swampy river and out to the bay and thought of Nikki’s life here. So different, so unimaginable, all this space and wilderness, unless you saw it for yourself.

How independent people had to be to live here, thrown on their own resources. It was miles to the next human habitation and Fleur wondered how quickly Nikki had adapted to the loneliness. If she had embraced it first as an escape, and then come to love and feel part of it all because of Jack.

She looked out over the water. Peaceful. Always moving. She had forgotten how much she missed living by the sea, living by water.

Fergus. Fergus. Did I tell you every day how much you meant to me? How I loved you? It’s hard, it’s so hard without you.

She thought of the little chalet house his parents had once owned down in Cornwall. Blue on blue of sea and sky where your heartbeat settled to the pulse of the ocean.

Fergus had loved it. It was where he had begun to paint. After his parents died they had mostly rented it out but they had tried to go each year. She had not been there since he died.

I could try it. I could rent out the London house. It came to her in a flash. There was a thriving arty community down there. She saw the glittering arc of blue sea and sky in front of the house. She saw the surfers swooping in on great waves as the sun set. She remembered the throb and shush of the sea, soothing and continuous as she lay in the dark.

She wanted to wake again to the sound of water. She wanted to live swallowed by sea and sky where the space and silence made room for her. A place to draw breath, to live the sort of life she must live, on her own now.