Building a summer home out here was Aurelia’s dream. But now, it has become a nightmare. He pressed her to come straight after the baby was born, even though he knew she wasn’t feeling up to it. But we’ll spend Christmas here, he said. It’ll be magic. It’s his fault she feels suicidal. He has done this.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he says, and she feels something in her heart give, a hot, tight knot come undone. She weeps freely, uncontrollably, and it takes all her resolve not to fall on her knees before him and tell him about what happened that night with Clive.

He tightens his grip on her, pulling her as close as he can with Coco strapped to his chest. He leans over and kisses Aurelia’s forehead, whispers in her ear that everything will be OK, he promises. He’ll build a new house. He’ll beg, borrow and steal if he has to. Sell his body. This gets a laugh from her, so he goes with it: he reckons he could get at least a couple of quid for his body, what does she think? Maybe he’ll invest in a thong, shave his chest, pluck his eyebrows. And on the side he’ll deliver pizzas. Anything to raise the cash. In his mind, a new design is already beginning to take shape. Not a house on the cliff, but in the cliff. Like a nest, unobtrusively settled into the nooks and crannies of the rock face, hovering over the water.

She smiles. ‘I like that,’ she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve. ‘It sounds beautiful.’

She turns to him, her eyes wet, her smile wide, flooded with gratitude for him. Maybe she’ll tell him some day about what happened with Clive. But she needs to understand herself, first. She’s reeling at what she did. She can’t believe it. He cups his hand to her cheek and leans forward to kiss her. She responds with a chaste peck, but he holds her in that kiss, so glad of this sudden affection because it means she still loves him. In the warmth of his touch and the light in his eyes she feels the darkness slip away.

‘You need to talk to someone,’ he tells her, brushing strands of unwashed hair from her face. She looks so delicate, she might shatter into pieces. ‘When we get back we’re going to find you a therapist,’ he says, surprised by how confident he sounds. To his own ears he sounds like he knows what needs to happen. This idea barely brushed his mind before the words came out, but it sounds so very wise. Of course she should talk to someone! Why hadn’t he seen it before? He’s been so busy with the build. She’s been crumbling before his very eyes and he hasn’t once suggested she talk to someone.