‘I know.’ She glanced at him. ‘Sorry. I didn’t want to say.’

‘Have you heard from her, since she left?’

Mandy nodded. ‘Just a quick call. She wasn’t on long. Bad connection.’

He stared hard at the side of her face. ‘What did she say, then?’ He threw a small rock into the shallows. ‘Did you call her?’

‘I did. I called her at her mum’s.’

‘And—?’

She kept her eyes on the horizon. He was dying beside her and she didn’t want to see it. ‘She said it was great to be back in England, Joe. That’s what she said. I’m sorry.’

The tide was coming in. A wave broke over their feet and soaked them both up to the knees. Neither of them moved. She felt the heat of the sun on the back of her neck. Her hair was dry now and her skin was tight from the salt.

‘I’m going to head back up to the house,’ she said. ‘Fix myself a drink and something to eat.’

When he didn’t reply she stood and picked her hat up off the sand.

‘Steve’s away,’ she said, and she waited for him to turn around. ‘He’ll be gone a day or two.’

Joe stood, clumsily, and brushed the sand from his clothes.

In the bedroom, Mandy drew the curtains against the afternoon sun. She’d left Joe by himself in the kitchen with a beer. He wasn’t too good with his own company right now, but still she sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. The thing she’d wanted to happen was happening. It had a weighted feel to it, like water flowing downstream. She exhaled slowly and watched the smoke thicken and descend.

Her jeans were almost dry but they were stiff with salt and she was sore where they’d rubbed against her skin. She stepped out of them into a clean pair, turned in front of the mirror to check she looked nice but not too nice, so he wouldn’t think she’d made an effort for him. On the dresser a framed photograph of her dad looked back at her. She turned it to face the wall.

From the kitchen she heard Joe shift in his chair, put his beer bottle down on the table, clear his throat. Her heart was going at a quick, nervy gallop. She almost wanted to back out of this, to send him home. But the stronger want was to let it happen, to know that pleasure with him. She couldn’t think beyond it.

He looked up at her as she walked through to the kitchen and put the ashtray down on the table.

‘Another beer?’ she asked.

‘Thanks.’

She took one for herself, as an afterthought. Joe looked a wreck in his damp, sandy work clothes. His face was sunburned around the hairline and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d barely spoken since they left the beach. She pushed the cigarette packet across the table and he took one, lit it and sat back in his chair.