‘Bella! You’re scaring me. What’s going on? Are you okay? Do you want me to come up? I can be there in minutes?’

‘He’s . . . he’s at the window. He’s . . . he’s here . . .’

‘Who is, love? Who? Bella, talk to me. Shall I call Jarvis, or the police? Where’s your mum?’ She wished they had figured out that code once mentioned, the one to use in an emergency.

‘Oh, my God, Merry! It’s the Flying Dutchman! Luuk’s here! I gotta go.’ Bella, almost breathless, spoke with such excitement it was electrifying.

‘Letmeknowwhathappens!’ she managed to squeeze in before the phone went dead. ‘Oh, my God!’ Merrin placed her hand on her beating heart. ‘Please don’t mess her around . . . she deserves better. She deserves to be loved by someone as much as we love her.’ She threw her thoughts out into the ether and hoped the universe was listening.

An hour passed and Merrin stood back to admire the old-white colour she had chosen for much of the interior, a lovely contrast to the exposed brickwork and worn timbers it sat against.

‘Hello?’

She heard the woman’s call from the bottom of the open staircase, but with the radio on couldn’t quite work out who it was, wondering if it was her mum with food, Ruby with wine or, better still, Bella with news!

The head that popped up and into the space was a surprise, to say the least.

‘Loretta!’ Merrin stood still, holding the paintbrush, letting the shock settle before turning off the radio and plopping the brush into an old jar of water to soak.

‘Come in!’ She felt a sense of pride in welcoming the woman into her home; the terrible anxiety that used to bookend any interaction was now no more than a mere flutter of nerves.

‘Heather said the place was really coming along and so I thought I’d bring you these.’ With a slightly shaky hand, she held out a bunch of wildflowers, whose subtle colours and delicate green fronds were beautiful.

‘Oh! The first flowers in my new house. Thank you.’ Merrin, genuinely touched, took them from her and laid them gently on the floor in the shade, planning to find a bucket to put them in when Loretta had gone. ‘Would you . . . would you like to sit down?’ She indicated the two beaten old leather chairs that had been there for as long as she could remember, now facing out over the wide balcony and the view of the cove beyond.

‘I don’t want to keep you.’

Merrin noted the creep of age over the woman’s once well-oiled vowels.

‘Not at all. The light’s fading and I was just about to make a cuppa.’