Will trotted down the guesthouse stairs, averting his eyes as he passed the pictures of Daisy, making just enough noise so that Mr Bradshaw wouldn’t be taken by surprise when he tapped on the living-room door.

‘Come in,’ Mr Bradshaw called. Will pushed the door open.

The old man was sitting on an armchair in front of the television, watching The Chase.

A three-bar electric fire was blazing and the room was very warm. Like the rest of the house, it was fussy, overfull with furniture. Will noticed a desk in the alcove in one corner, a filing cabinet beside it. On the cabinet was a tray with two decanters, each half full and an old, framed photograph of the councillors, including Mr Bradshaw, standing outside Severn Sands town hall. Other photographs around the room were family shots: Mr and Mrs Bradshaw, and Daisy in various stages of growing up. In one of the pictures Daisy was wearing a wedding dress: a big, meringue-type affair. Beside her was an older, bald-headed man, smaller in height and stature than Daisy, his chest puffed out with pride.

‘They’re divorced now,’ said Mr Bradshaw without looking up. ‘It didn’t work out.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Will. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Anyway, I’m going out for something to eat. I won’t be long.’

‘You do as you like,’ said Mr Bradshaw. ‘You don’t have to answer to me.’

* * *

Outside, the air was cold. Will walked to the seafront and headed down the promenade, looking for a chip shop or a takeaway. Where there used to be a string of cafés and restaurants now there was nothing save one place, the Dolphin café, that still had tables and chairs in the yard outside. Its walls were painted bright green. A weather-worn plastic dolphin with a napkin tied around its neck, clutching a crude hot-dog beneath its flipper leaped grinning over the ‘Dolphin’ sign. The café was still functioning, but it was closed for the night.

The wind was blowing off the sea. Will shivered and pulled up the collar of his jacket.