It had been behind beach hut number three that I had experienced my very first kiss, and what a kiss it was! Never to be forgotten and perfect in every conceivable way, it had never been bettered. I had kissed a fair few guys since that initial seductively sweet encounter, but no meeting of lips had ever felt so stirring, so arousing, so thrilling.

It might have been a self-indulgent trip down memory lane, and I couldn’t put my finger on why it felt suddenly so important to do it, but I truly believed that going back to the place where my life had felt perfect would be a psychological boost, one that would help me untangle a few things and face my future.

‘Oh shit,’ I groaned as I flung back the duvet before it was even light, slammed shut the window and traipsed to the bathroom for a towel to mop up the sill.

Mother Nature clearly had other ideas about my proposed trek to retrace my steps. I snuggled back down wondering if this was a sign. Some portent sent to put me off. Even if it was, I was going to ignore it.

By mid-morning conditions had improved just about enough for me to venture out. Bedecked in raincoat and wellies I left the cottage but soon realized I wouldn’t be walking to the huts along the sand.

‘You can’t go on the beach in this!’ bellowed a voice behind me when I took a step down the lane towards the seawall.

I turned and found the beach tractor was right behind me. The wind was such I hadn’t heard it approaching.

‘I know!’ I shouted. ‘I’m going the other way.’

‘Be careful then,’ said the guy as he trundled by. ‘You don’t want to get blown away.’

It was the first time he’d ever spoken to me and his expression, in spite of the battering it was getting from the wind, was marginally friendlier than when I first arrived. I wondered if he had been in the pub on Saturday night and was feeling more mellow after the evening’s entertainment, but I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t sure if I would have recognized him scrubbed up and out of his oilskins.

He turned the tractor left up the lane and I followed slowly behind. The weather didn’t feel quite so deadly with the seawall and the few cottages sheltering me from the brunt of it and by the time I had reached the end and was exposed to the view, the wind had dropped a little and it was hardly raining at all.

‘That’s more like it,’ I muttered, readjusting my hood and looking at the steeply rising path ahead.