‘I really have to go now.’

‘You’ll come back?’

‘I can’t,’ she said, and strode out of the cabin before she said anything else. As she walked down the lane, trying to keep upright on the pockmarked track, she turned back and there he was. He waved to her from the door, looking like he belonged out there. As if the world belonged to him.

4.

Muriel saw the glow of the Howe Farm bonfire from all the way over by the East Fleet marshes and she thought, why shouldn’t she have a bonfire too? She made one on the half-frozen marsh just to see the flames rise over the sea and watch the reflection of the fire, like goldfish flickering in the muddy creeks.

‘Hey, is that safe?’

She whipped round, hearing the foreign accent. A man was standing on the quayside peering down at her. He was in darkness but from his voice she knew he was American.

‘Why not?’ she laughed. ‘There’s plenty of water round here.’

‘Can I come down?’ he said.

‘If you want,’ she said.

She watched him make his way across the gangway out to where she was. By the light of the fire she recognised him: the American with the scar, the one who’d danced with her at the Midsummer party. The bonfire cast a devilish glow, highlighting the thin jagged line across his face and she sensed a challenge in him, a dare.

‘Jack,’ he said, reaching out a hand. ‘Have we met before?’

‘No idea,’ she lied. ‘My name’s Muriel. It means bright sea.’ She shook his hand firmly.

‘Hello, Muriel Bright Sea,’ he said, ‘would you like some fries?’ He held out a bag of steaming chips he must have got from French’s.

‘Chips,’ she corrected him. ‘Yeah, if you don’t mind.’ She was empty with hunger, as usual, but she only took one.

‘Go on,’ he said, and she took a few more.

They sat on an upturned boat abandoned on the marsh and ate the chips and drank the pop he told her he could get at the base. He said he’d come from the Howe Farm bonfire and was heading to the pub for a nightcap. Did she want to come? But she couldn’t go in the pub with an American. It was full of fishermen, including her own father.

‘Was Arthur there?’ she asked.

‘Arthur Silver? Oh yeah,’ he said, ‘he’s always there.’ And it reminded her of the Midsummer dance and the crash the two of them had. She saw how it was, how they both were about Verity Frost. Dogs on heat, circling her.

‘What do you say to a drink then, Miss Bright Sea?’

‘I can’t do that,’ she said, but their faces were hot from the fire and close up.

He leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek, his lips greasy from the chips.