Miguel saw the crush of sadness on Merrin’s face at Ben’s words and wondered what it must feel like to want to be in one place, but be based in another. He decided there and then to make more effort with their room at Milbury Court – make it more homey, maybe he’d get a plant – until they could make proper plans. He took one long look around the cove and had to admit that if she wanted to come here and build a life, he would not be against it. He’d go wherever made her happy, because, like he’d said to Ben, he loved her.

‘Love you, Dad!’ She wrapped him in a tight, brief hug and kissed her mother once more before jumping into the car and starting the engine.

‘I don’t want to go. I never wanted to go. And yet I can’t wait to be gone. How do I reconcile that?’ she whispered, and he wondered for a minute if she’d forgotten he was there.

‘Have we got snacks?’ he asked, trying to lighten the mood. She looked at him sharply and smiled, exactly as if his question had reminded her of his presence.

‘I haven’t taken the handbrake off and already you’re after snacks!’ She shook her head and waved to her parents, who held each other close as they waved back. Ben winked at him as the car pulled away. Ruby, with her arms wrapped around Jarvis’s waist, gave a nod, her lips almost pursed. Miguel looked out over the wide expanse of sea where the sun shone high in the sky; there was no doubt about it, this was a little slice of heaven right here.

‘Mr and Mrs Cardy,’ he said aloud.

‘Yep, Mr and Mrs Cardy.’ She beamed, while sniffing the tears that threatened. ‘They did it!’

‘They sure did. I love you, Merrin.’

She reached into the back seat and grabbed an old lidded ice-cream tub. ‘All right, flattery will get you everywhere! Here’s some left-over sausage rolls from the buffet and a slice of wedding cake.’

As they rounded the bend by the pub a woman walked out in front of the car, as if not caring less whether it hit her or not. Merrin touched the brakes and slowed until the woman had time to reach the pavement safely.

‘Bit weird!’ He stared at the woman with the wild, white hair and staring eyes.

‘That’s poor old Lizzie Lick. I’ve told you about her.’ Merrin spoke solemnly.

‘Yes, you have, and you know, every town, village or postcode has one.’

‘One what?’ she asked.

‘You know, someone that everyone else talks about, that person whose reputation goes before them and who trails their tale in their wake. Someone who can’t escape what others say about them, a history that gets embellished until they don’t stand a chance. It’s sad.’