‘What are you doing, laying your coat over the ground for me?’

‘Not quite.’

I get out and the blustery wind pulls me in every direction, tugging at my sweatshirt and shorts, as if I don’t have enough trouble keeping them up. I wipe the sea spray from my face, then turn and see what he’s looking at. There’s a huge dent in the side of the car door and the paintwork is badly chipped. The trolley did more damage than I thought.

‘I’m really sorry, Tom. I’ll pay for it to be fixed as soon as I get a new job.’

‘Don’t be silly, it wasn’t your fault.’ He stands up and rubs his arms. ‘Jeez. It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a snowman.’ He opens the boot of the car and takes out my coat and holds it open for me with an apologetic smile. ‘The heater’s dried it a bit, but it’s still damp.’

Deciding it’s better than nothing, I slip one arm inside and then the other. As I do, I feel my shorts drop. I grab the waistband with one hand then turn around and attempt to do up the coat with the other. Tom reaches to help with the zip just as I yank up my shorts, resulting in me headbutting his collar bone.

‘Careful there, Shorty,’ he laughs. ‘You know I bruise easy.’

‘Yeah, you might have mentioned it.’

He returns my smile and a feeling of warmth radiates through me. ‘Thanks, Tom. Thanks for everything.’ He’s been so nice – not just driving me here but sharing things about his life so I would find it easier to talk about my mum. His kindness means more to me than he can know. He pulls the zip up to my neck, standing so close I can feel his breath on my forehead, and then pats my shoulders as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ He reaches into his pocket and hands me two ten-pound notes. ‘The money you wanted. Are you sure it’s enough?’

‘Thanks.’ I take the cash and sadness wells up inside me at the thought of saying goodbye. The strength of the feeling surprises me and I take a quick breath.

He tilts his head, his brown eyes soft with concern. ‘Are you going to be OK?’

Feeling uncomfortable, I bite my lip and give a tiny nod, relieved when one of the men by the boat sees us and raises his arm. As he jogs up the slope, my body tenses. I don’t know if the shadow I saw before was a trick of the light, but something made those people attack me. What if it happens again while I’m at sea? Anorak Man was unsteady on his feet, but I don’t fancy my chances on a boat.

This man is tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy brown hair and a moustache so big and bushy I’m not sure whether to be impressed or suspicious of what it might be hiding. He speaks in a strong Welsh accent. ‘Can I help you?’