‘Oh, last Christmas. No: I would have been about fourteen or thereabouts. He once made me dance like Jarvis Cocker for him. After that he sort of liked me. As a mascot. I kept well away from him. What did he say to you?’

‘Celebrating, are you?’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, No. He asked me why not and I said I didn’t think Brexit was a very good idea. Why not? he said, and I said I didn’t think it would solve anything, just trash the economy, increase intolerance, stop me from living in France if I wanted to.’

‘What would you want to live in France for?’

‘He didn’t actually ask that. He asked where I lived and nodded knowingly when I said London. Fair enough, love, he said, but it’s different round here. Then he told me to let him know if anyone gives me any hassle and he’d have a word with them for me.’

‘That’s a useful offer.’

‘Then I asked him why he was celebrating.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Because we won! We won! There’s more of us than there is of them.’

‘Who’s them?’

‘Us,’ she said.

*

We went the long way back so Emily could see the sea again. It would be dark in London by now but the sun was only just setting here, pink sky and glints of flame in the puddles the tide had left behind. We walked down towards it, where the sand was wet and firm. Seagulls glided overhead and patrolled the tideline, mocking us in Liverpudlian accents, impersonating laser guns like kids with ADHD. In the distance the sea sloshed. A light shone on the horizon. Everything stank of sex.

Emily took a deep breath and said, ‘This is peaceful. Thanks, Paul.’

She keeled over and lay on the ground.

‘That was a stupid thing to do,’ I said. ‘You’ll be all sandy now.’

I wondered if she wanted me to lie down next to her. I wondered too long.

She got back up and I laughed at her, brushed the sand off her back.

‘You city types,’ I said. ‘You go silly at the sight of the seashore.’

I spent more time rubbing the sand from the small of her back than I suppose I really needed to.

When we got in we sat down on the sofa in the back room and started yawning.

‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘Which train are we getting tomorrow?’

‘We’ll get a taxi at nine for the half nine train.’

‘I haven’t got sand on your mum’s sofa, have I?’ She brushed at her knees and looked around her. When she looked back up at me she saw that I was looking at her knees and she pressed them closer together.

‘You’re fine,’ I said, looking away. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’