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‘I wasn’t thinking of a real date for you, just someone to up the numbers so I’m not trapped in a corner with Mark,’ she said his name like she was retching up bad sushi.

‘Let’s bring Stevie.’

‘I did think of that, but she’s bound to notice that we’re heading home with a nice bit of vintage leather, and being all sweet she’d get it back to him on the double. Before we have time to tinker.’

Temperance swirled her half full mug of builder’s tea. ‘It’s a bit late for me to ask any of my old college friends – no one’s that local to Salcombe, and it’s a bugger getting the bus home. It would look pretty suss if I tagged along like a third wheel – he might abandon ship before we get a chance to get the jacket.’

Susie went quiet, drumming her fingers against the table to a jittery beat only she could hear. ‘There! There he is!’ She pointed through the café window. Walking up the path from the beach, his wetsuit rolled down to his hip bones and a surfboard under one arm, his hair dripping, was Abel. ‘I bet Abel fancies a drink in Salcombe. For old times’ sake.’

‘What?! He can’t stand me, remember? He even got mad because I stopped him grabbing a handful of broken glass. He’d rather bleed to death than let me near him. I’m telling you, Abel has no interest in old times’ sake, not when it involves me. It’s not going to fly and I don’t want to—’

Susie yanked open the café door and yelled across the green. ‘Miagi! Good surf?’

He froze on the spot as he clocked Susie and Temperance through the window. His eyes ricocheted around the landscape in front of him.

‘Nowhere to hide this time, buddy,’ Temperance muttered through almost-closed lips.

Susie beckoned and, after a beat, Abel started to walk slowly towards them.

‘Come on.’ Susie scooped her sister up, hooking her arm in hers and pulling her outside.

It would be awkward enough in any situation to be presented with a bare, unadulterated, ripped male torso, but the cherry on top for Temperance was that Abel’s discomfort obviously ran deeper than her own.

He leant his board on a nearby garden wall and rested one hand on the opposite shoulder, as if to cover himself as much as possible. Perhaps he was worried she’d make another lunge for his biceps again. Abel couldn’t meet her eye even for a moment. And that was hard, because Temperance was adamant that she should hold eye contact and not be tempted to intensely inspect just how much chest hair Abel had grown since he was eighteen (a lot), or how it held onto the seawater and kind of glistened, or how it trailed down his six-pack, circling his belly button and then down . . .

Eye contact, for God’s sake. Eye contact!

‘Alright, Abel?’ Temperance forced her voice to be level.

‘Yup,’ he grunted, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

‘Cold out this morning?’ Susie asked.

‘Yup. But I just can’t resist the surf here. I’ve missed it.’

‘And did you have a lovely long walk again before you hit the water?’ Temperance’s snort of derision slipped out before she realised she was even capable of such an annoyed little piggy noise.

Abel flashed a look at her, quickly, before studying the stones of the bus shelter closely. ‘Not today, no. Have you been playing hide and seek again? In a sack?’

‘Umm.’ Susie looked between them in confusion.

‘I have, actually. But none of the kids wanted to ask the big, mean, grumpy Bad Fairy to play.’

‘Oh, I’m gutted,’ he deadpanned, his hand gripping his heart.

‘Right.’ Susie frowned. ‘You know what else you’ve been missing, Abe?’ Susie flipped into her biggest smile. ‘A pint in The Fort, maybe throw a few darts too, for old times’ sake. With us. Tonight.’ She waggled her eyebrows.

‘With you both?’ he asked, his voice controlled.

Temperance found herself clenching her fingers together tightly. She wouldn’t let this get to her. She’d been an idiot, on the night of the festival, to let the magic of her costume hypnotise her into thinking there was something – scratch that – anything between her and Abel Gulliver still. She’d let nostalgia in the strawberry field make her think that a shred of their old friendship still existed, somewhere. Clearly nothing had changed from the feeling Abel had left woven in his teenage hoody: he was disgusted by Temperance, he could barely tolerate her presence. But she’d meet him there – she’d tolerate him for long enough to sort this cloud of doom she’d conjured up and then she’d let him scoot back to his real life. Done. Over. The only thing she should expect from Abel was that he’d run away again. At least this time it wouldn’t be such a gut-wrenching shock.

She forced herself to not roll her eyes and look away, and that was when she saw the tattoo on his shoulder: three simple wave lines stacked in a row. He really had missed the sea, then.

‘Suse is right. You should come,’ Temperance said flatly. ‘There’ll be other people there too, don’t panic.’ She chewed her bottom lip.

Abel shook out a little more water from his hair, almost raining seawater on her in the process. ‘OK. I’m in. Anything to get out of the village for a night. I’ll meet you there.’

Abel was taking his sweet time getting their drinks, evidently in a long rambling chat with the man behind the bar. Temperance was trying not to be the weird third wheel, but it turned out that things were plenty weird enough between Mark and Susie without her interference. Susie might have been aiming for Mata Hari, but what she was delivering was pure Emily Maitlis: firing off direct questions, one after the other, without letting her date catch half a breath, though still with an air of confident ‘don’t fuck with me’ sex appeal.