Her right side was the same as it had always been. Her left . . . she would never get used to that damage. The puckered purple scarring, the distortion, the tightness whenever she tried to smile, an instant reminder of what was there, what would always be there.

He’d done this to her. Harlan Stone.

And more.

The anger and grief at the loss of her family ate at her, every day. And here she was, escaping from the world. Hiding.

Like a fucking coward.

Yeah, that was her. She was afraid. Scared witless of the water and of the world outside the safety of this place. And she was also . . . damn, she could barely acknowledge this, it was too fucking embarrassing . . . she was also scared by the way she was beginning to feel about Jack Tavender. Back in her past life, she had always been the cool girl, the one men turned to look at. Now, her scars had robbed her of that. Just once, she’d answered the door to the postman when Jack was off in the local market town, and the expression on the man’s face had made her shrink into herself with shame. He’d been visibly shocked.

She was a mess, inside and out.

And there was something bad, something worse, it seemed to her, now. She could scarcely bear this, it was so painful to acknowledge, but it was the truth. She was hopelessly attracted to Jack, and getting closer to him day by day. And that was . . . Christ, it was just sad, because look at the state of her.

Next day and the next, he asked again. Did she want to come for a swim?

‘No,’ said Belle, but every day she felt worse about it.

Next day, the same. ‘Coming?’

‘No. Thanks.’

And again, the day after that.

The day after that, she was sitting there at the kitchen table with Trix and a towel.

‘Coming then?’ he asked.

‘OK. All right. Did your mum have any bathers?’

He looked blank.

‘A swimsuit?’ Belle elaborated.

‘Not that I know of. Sorry.’

Which was her perfect ‘out’ of this. Her heart was beating sickly in her chest with terror. But she was going to do it.

‘Never mind,’ she said, faking a breezy tone. ‘I’ll wing it, yeah? Go back to nature.’

Now she was committed. She couldn’t say she was coming and then bottle it. They left Trix in the yard and walked down the edge of the field, and with every step Belle felt herself grow more and more afraid. Three quarters of the way down there, Jack stopped walking.

‘You OK?’ he asked, looking at her face. Instinctively, Belle turned her scarred side away from him.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You look a bit green around the gills.’

‘I’m fine.’