Finch was being honest. He felt at home in the cottage, even though he knew nobody in the surrounding area. This place was wilder, less manicured, less populated than Sussex, and he liked that. But he found he missed the sea, missed his harbour runs, missed his own house more than he’d thought he would.

Grace stroked his arm. ‘You and Sam have been so amazing. I can’t believe how patient you both are. You literally saved my life.’ She let out a long breath. ‘Mum would have been so proud of you,’ she said, and Finch could hear the wobble in her voice.

They turned and walked east along the path that breasted the hill and dipped down towards a copse of trees in the distance. The wind was fierce up there, and they both shrank into their scarves and coats, hands buried deep in their pockets, noses pink with cold. Finch glanced sideways at his stepdaughter. The words were itching at the back of his throat, but he was so scared of tipping Grace back into the depths. He waited a moment longer, then took a deep breath.

‘Do you mind if we talk about Romy?’

Grace immediately turned to him. ‘Are you seeing her?’

‘No, but we’ve kept in touch.’

She nodded slowly but didn’t reply.

‘What do you feel about her, Gracie?’

His stepdaughter’s voice was tight as she said, ‘She wasn’t to blame for what happened.’

‘But?’ They’d turned back towards home now, the wind behind them.

His stepdaughter stopped beside him, kicking the loose stones on the path with the toe of her boot. ‘She was Michael’s wife.’ Her tone was blunt. ‘Which I know isn’t fair … because she’s a victim too.’

‘She reminds you of him, obviously.’

‘That … and I suppose at the time I saw her as the catalyst for me having to open up about Michael.’

They continued down the hill in silence.

‘But I have absolutely nothing personal against her, Finch.’

He nodded.

She looked up at him. ‘You still really like her, don’t you?’

Finch was unable to stop a smile as he thought of how much he did like Romy, which Grace noted, her eyes flickering with amusement.

‘You deserve to be happy, Finch,’ she said, linking his arm in hers and squeezing him close as they arrived at the gate of Hawk Cottage. ‘You’ve been the best father a girl could ever have.’

When Finch didn’t reply for the lump in his throat, Grace looked up at him. ‘Don’t not see Romy on my account,’ she said, her voice full of resolve. ‘I’d hate that. Michael has already messed with far too many lives.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘It stops right here, right now.’