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breaks and another swell arises, everything passes. It seemed a different image to him today: something about death. Death was rhythmic, an endless pattern. Every death looked identical as long as you were far enough away.
    Susan Grierson smiled warmly up at him. The last time they met she’d been taller than him. ‘Do you remember me?’
    He took a deep breath and tried to speak, because it was her and she was nice: ‘I’d remembered, you then, in a boat?’
    She gave a small, confused frown, her eyes focusing on a space between his nose and mouth.
    ‘Sorry?’
    Iain shook his head. No. He shouldn’t say that again. It didn’t make sense.
    ‘Iain? Are you all right?’ Head tilt, concern, but another thing in there. Something else too. Something glad in there. She liked helping people. Moneyed people often did. ‘Are you all right?’
    It was a big question. Iain looked back at the water, letting the wind sting his eyes. He was twice as tall as he had been when last he saw Susan Grierson. They left, all of the townspeople from then, left and came back, some to stay, some to bury, some to brag and gloat. In and out, sea water in the estuary. And, like the sea, they looked the same when they came back but they weren’t. Iain wasn’t the same when he came back from prison. They all acted as if they were the same, as if nothing had changed, as if they could all trust each other.
    Susan liked helping. She stayed next to him, pulling her cardigan tight around herself. They stood still for a long time.
    ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said, filling the space between them. ‘So, so beautiful . . .’ She talked on, stringing bland clichés together into observations. She could just fuck off and leave him alone. He didn’t need help.
    He wanted a cigarette.
    He hadn’t smoked for six years. He couldn’t remember when he last craved one but he dearly wanted one now. He’d go and buy tobacco in a minute. He would smoke it out, this thing, this woman.
    ‘When you take the time to stand and watch the water,’ Susan was saying, ‘it’s mesmerising, isn’t it? Like a fire.’
    Her accent was odd. He recalled some information about her from somewhere. ‘Didn’t you move to America?’
    ‘Yes.’ She looked away, down the water. ‘I lived in the States for a long time.’ Her voice was gentle and calming.
    ‘Chicago?’ He didn’t think it was Chicago but he wanted her to speak again.
    She glanced at him. ‘No, not Chicago. Nassau County, in fact . . .’
    ‘That near Chicago?’ He was slurring.
    ‘It’s on Long Island.’
    They stood for a moment, but he missed her caressing voice. ‘On Long Island?’ he said. ‘In America?’
    Her face twitched and she stepped away very slightly. Iain wasn’t offended. His delivery was wrong, he knew that, but he felt quite proud of himself. However strange he seemed on the outside, it was nothing compared to how baffled he was on the inside.
    ‘Long Island,’ she spoke carefully, ‘is near Manhattan. Near to New York City. Do you know the Hamptons?’
    It seemed like an abrupt change of topic. ‘D’they live here?’
    Now they were both confused. Iain sensed that it wasn’t just him. The conversation had become bewildering.
    Their voices overlapped: ‘I want baccy,’ he said, and Susan said, ‘Come to my house.’
    She looked very keen.
    Iain ran back through what had been said so far. Was there a build-up to that? He didn’t think so.
    Susan was looking at him, desperation shining out of her. She really wanted him to come to her house. Was she religious? But then her smile widened and warmed. Did she want to have sex with him? Iain found that slightly frightening. The scariness didn’t make it entirely uninviting though. It kind of added to it. She wasn’t a stranger, but like a teacher from when he was young, maybe he’d imagined her naked, back then, and owed it to his old self. But maybe not, maybe not safe. His head was already messed after this