The days Josh craves the surf are the worst. Georgie watches from the car as he makes his way down the wooden decking to the beach, winding slowly round each corner. The tip of his board trails behind him, snake-like in the sand. He pauses in the shallows and shackles the board to his leg, stopping for a second before charging at the ankle-deep swell.

‘Strong southerly out there,’ she’d tried on the way down, having heard the same on the radio that morning.