‘Maybe Diana should take it up to her room so there’s no chance of food getting on it.’ I stroke Diana’s shoulder.

‘Good idea.’ Allan looks up at me briefly then gives the book to Diana. She holds it under her arm and Mrs Hoskine hands her a plate of cake before bustling her back into the kitchen. Champagne corks pop and I jump, spilling a bit of the red wine in my glass. George makes eye contact from the other side of the table. He misses nothing. Allan laughs loudly at something Beth Venn says then knocks back a glass of champagne. I mop up the spilled wine with my napkin but there remains a tell-tale drop of red on my glove.

57. Lottie

57

Lottie

4 August 2018, 9.05 p.m.

Dinner was ready and Lottie had no idea where her mother had gone. At the top of the garden, the gate to the path was ajar. The only sounds were the waves. Lottie reluctantly turned left and walked towards the watchtower. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably. This time ten years ago she was sitting at the dining room table and was already pretty drunk. This evening the footpath was deserted, but she could hear happy sounds coming up from the beach.

Lottie stood in the middle of the path knowing her mother was at the watchtower. She had to go there. Alex had said John wasn’t her fault but at this moment, guilt weighed her feet down. A bat swooped low in front of her and she fell against the fence. Her heart raced as she looked through the brambles to the beach below.

In all her visits to Boskenna since 2008 she had never again stepped off the footpath and onto the headland. She crossed the invisible barrier now and in a few strides, she was beside the old concrete structure. The air was cool and she rubbed her bare arms. Her mother was perched on the steps leading up to the lookout platform.

‘Hi.’ Lottie whispered but her mother jumped any way.

Her mother turned away from the view. Her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I remember.’

‘You do?’ Lottie took a step back, thinking of the diary tucked under her pillow.

‘Not much. But I remember the body, my father on a rock.’ She shook her head. ‘From the path,’ she pointed. ‘It looked like he was sun bathing in his evening suit.’ She took a gulp of air. ‘I don’t know if I want to remember more.’

‘Oh, Mum.’

‘But what bothers me is that he was on his back.’ She took a breath. ‘I have spent the past hour moving every which way trying to work it out but . . . but I think he would have fallen forward.’