She wondered, later that evening, safe at home in bed, why she went in. She could have stopped it right there and walked away. But she wanted to see what would happen. It was a strange little place, a marsher’s shack she supposed, but it felt more like an abandoned beach house in a funny way and she always thought of it like that. It had pale blue paint peeling off its old wooden windowsills, a sign of brighter days. Weeds grew up to the grimy windows. Jack opened the door, holding back the tentacles of an overgrown climber that fell down in front of it. It was a gaping dark hole beyond the door and she hesitated. She had the sudden, terrible sensation of a tear in the fabric of her life, that she had already forsaken Arthur by coming here, and the dizzying sense that Jack had been promising this all along. She must have known, and yet now she was at the threshold of betrayal, it was shocking.

‘Go on, go through.’

His voice was behind her, and she felt the presence of his body at her back. She wanted to go in. In any case, she couldn’t go back. It smelled of old dust and damp and decay, but at the far end of the hallway was a chink of pale light. Picking her way down the narrow passage, she pushed open the door and beyond it was a bare room that overlooked the marsh, and beyond that, the silvery line of the sea. The soft autumn light filled the space. Her eyes were drawn outside at first, to the flat expanse of the marsh, but then she looked around. Jack had come into the room too and was watching her. On the right-hand side of the room was a heavy-looking old wardrobe and opposite it there was a low single bed and side table.

Her mouth was dry. There was a bed. ‘I need to go back.’ Her voice was hoarse and ragged.

‘Just stay for a minute. There’s a kitchen. I can make coffee. Warm us up. Or tea?’

‘No… thank you. I need to go.’ Her head ached. She pushed past him out of the room. He stood at the door in partial silhouette, with a slightly lost look on his face.

‘Let me make you a drink. It’s cold.’

It was cold. Her fingers were numb, even in her leather riding gloves. She would quite like a drink.

‘Come on, it’ll warm you up.’

‘All right then,’ she said, ‘just for a minute,’ and he led her through to the so-called kitchen, a little room next to the bedroom.