‘I could still bloody kill him!’ he muttered under his breath, wondering if this feeling would ever subside. He rubbed at the top of his arm, where a shooting pain had a tendency to spark, due to the cold, no doubt, and the effect of hauling heavy nets and crates of fish at his age in all weathers.

As he rolled his shoulder and walked into the parlour, Heather called from the stove, where she stirred a lamb stew, the rich, peppery aroma filling the air.

‘Where you going, Ben?’

‘Old Boat Shed.’ He grabbed his old oilskin jacket and pulled on his sturdy boots.

‘That’ll make a change.’ She sighed.

‘Where else am I to go? This is Port Charles! There in’t that much choice!’

‘I know where we are. And well you know that my point is that you can’t keep hiding up there. It won’t bring her back. It’s been nearly six months.’ She spoke over her shoulder.

‘You think I don’t know that? I just need to sit and think and look at the sea. Ain’t too much to ask, is it?’

‘If that’s what you need to do, love, but as far as I can see, you’re in danger of growing gills: you’re either on the sea, in the sea or looking at the bloody sea.’ Heather turned her attention to the salting of her stew.

‘That’s about right. I’m a Cornishman.’ He chuckled.

‘Yes, you are. A proud Cornishman, but you used to be a proud and happy Cornishman. You can’t live sad. You have to live happy!’

He gave a wry smile; this from the woman who wept behind closed doors when she thought no one was listening.

‘Is that right?’

‘Yes! Merrin seems okay, she really does, so it makes no sense to brood. You’ve heard her on the phone and read her letters: she’s working hard and has found her feet. She seems settled.’

‘Didn’t even come home for Christmas.’ He remembered what it had felt like to wake for the first time on a Christmas Day without both his daughters under his roof, and the rather subdued celebrations that had occurred in light of the year they had had.

‘For the love of God, let it go, Ben! That’s her busiest time, she couldn’t get away.’

He snorted, not fully believing this and suspecting that Merrin would use any excuse not to come back to the place that now held such negative associations.

‘That Mortimer boy,’ Heather began. The mention of him enough to make his pulse race.