‘We’ve spoken about this,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s not something you can force. You need to find a way of accepting some of those memories may never come back, Clodagh.’

‘They’re the final hours I spent with my sister before she died. It seems too cruel that I’ll never remember what that was like.’

‘It is cruel,’ Charlie said. ‘I wish there was something I could tell you that would make it less so. But there isn’t.’

‘What if I’ve forgotten something important?’ Clodagh said.

‘Like what?’

‘Two people who were on the plane with me have been killed. Maybe they were killed because of something that happened that day.’

‘Have you spoken about this with Rapinder?’ Charlie asked, referring to the counsellor Clodagh had been seeing before she left London.

‘I don’t see her any more,’ Clodagh said.

‘Well maybe you should schedule some sessions. It sounds like you’re giving too much weight to a few lost hours. I know it’s difficult not being able to remember everything that happened that day, but it’s like I’ve said before, it would be far healthier to accept your situation instead of trying to force your brain to do something it can’t do. Being involved in a plane crash is a uniquely horrific and traumatic experience. There’s a reason your brain has shut down those memories. It’s trying to protect you.’

‘If that’s the case, why do I still dream about it?’

‘I’m a neurologist,’ Charlie said. ‘Not a psychologist. That’s why you need to speak to Rapinder. I really think you should give her a call.’

Clodagh promised she would call her counsellor, although she had no intention of doing that any time soon. Her problem wasn’t an inability to accept the inevitable; it was an inability to remember. The last thing she needed was someone else telling her that acceptance was her only option.

She arrived at Worthing an hour before she was due at Ivan’s, which meant she had time for a swim in the sea first. The sunny weather meant lots of people had had the same idea. The seafront was buzzing. Families on holiday, day trippers down from London, groups of teenagers and elderly couples strolling slowly along the promenade. All of them taking advantage of the endless miles of beach that never seemed busy, no matter how many people were around.

Clodagh had come prepared, wearing her swimsuit under her dress. She walked to the area east of the pier, with its imposing town houses and the East Beach studios. This area, home for Worthing’s growing community of artists and craftspeople, was her favourite part of the town.