I went up to bed after Sam left, but I couldn’t sleep and found myself reaching for Mum’s diary again. It was hardly a soothing bedside read, but it was a distraction and with the memory of that kiss coupled with conflicting thoughts about Joe’s deal with Sunny Shores running through my mind, I certainly needed one. And talking of the one . . .

The last line Mum had typed, ‘she’s the one,’ really broke my heart. The first few entries had suggested the early affairs Dad indulged in were frivolous interludes, but the later ones came across differently and towards the end, Mum was aware that there was one person in particular who meant more to her husband than she did. I was deeply saddened by that and found myself wishing that the pair had parted and moved on with their lives instead of sticking it out in a loveless marriage and, in Mum’s case, never discovering what was possible beyond it.

I kept a low profile for the next couple of days, trying to decide what I should do with the overwhelming amount of information my head was stuffed with. Should I cut and run, go back and face my father? Should I announce to everyone what Joe had in store for their lovely landscape or should I keep quiet and let the Upton family move on and free themselves from the fear of the unpredictable farming cycle? Should I ask Sam why he had been my first kiss? Should I confess my disloyalty to Hope and ask why she and her beloved weren’t talking? Or, should I pretend that I knew nothing about any of it, and just carry on enjoying my holiday?

I was still no closer to coming to a decision when I wandered down to the café on Tuesday. The weather was warm, but I couldn’t see the sun because it was blocked by a thick blanket of cloud and I couldn’t help thinking that it felt like the perfect metaphor for my life.

‘Tess,’ beamed Sophie when I walked in. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself? It feels like ages since I last saw you!’

‘I’ve been around and about,’ I told her, wishing I could lift my mood high enough to match hers.

Sophie had a mother’s knack for spotting melancholy a mile off and I didn’t want her delving too deeply into my current muddled mindset.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘grab a seat and I’ll bring you something delicious to eat.’

‘I’m not really hungry,’ I told her. ‘I only came—’

‘To borrow my laptop?’ she interrupted, raising her eyebrows.

I nodded, feeling a little guilty.

‘That’s all right,’ she said, bustling back behind the counter, ‘you can surf and snack at the same time, can’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, sliding into the last empty booth, ‘that I can do.’