Another memory: Stuart had mentioned that there were rules about lights on boats at night and that he avoided going out too late so that he wouldn’t have to return in the dark.

“They argued. All three of them. About leaving, about you.”

Sorrow for all our younger selves filters through my happier memories of us being out at sea, huddling in the tiny patches of shade beneath the small canopy in the dazzling afternoon sun. The smell of beer, sun cream and salty air. We really did have our whole lives ahead of us.

Deborah’s voice interrupts. Now she’s started, she seems unable to stop.

“Nina just wanted to get back, but as she tried to pull away, Charlie grabbed the helm. He was drunk, he wanted to argue his case, he didn’t want Nina to tell you.”

Why? I wonder. Clearly, he didn’t love me as much as I, him.

“But he overbalanced, fell back and hit his head on the side of the cooler or the bottom of the boat, she wasn’t sure, she was trying to keep control. Camilla helped him back up, but he just...swayed. Nina turned the boat round toward the shore. At that point, she was going to head back, alight anywhere, ask for help. Camilla took over the steering so that Nina could help steady Charlie, but she realized he was only pretending to be hurt as he lunged at her, begging her not to tell you.”

“He was really quite out of it before I even left,” I say. “Charlie didn’t really have an off switch when it came to drink, drugs, food, life, anything. He always was an all-or-nothing type of person.”

“He was furious with Nina—she said it was all a bit of a blur as I can well imagine—and then...Camilla cut the engine to help her and somehow, Charlie got pushed overboard.”

“Somehow?”

“It was both of them. They didn’t mean to, he was out of control, yelling, they said he was going to punch them both, they were utterly convinced that they’d be knocked out or badly hurt. There was a struggle, they looked over the edge, expecting to see him climb back but there was no sign of him. Nina said it was like a horror film in slow motion, the sky was beginning to dim, even the sea was starting to look black. The boat was rocking badly. Nina almost went overboard herself as she felt dreadfully seasick.”

She pauses as a couple walks past.

I’m trying to take it all in, trying to picture the Nina I knew in this scenario.

“I’m very sorry, Marie, but Nina said when they spotted him using the boat’s lights—she’d frantically pressed or flicked everything until something worked—he was clearly dead. He was facedown and had been in the water for a considerable time by then. He was being dragged away from them, drifting toward the rocks. There was nothing they could do.”

“Didn’t they even try to get help?”