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stilts. I used to imagine living there. I must have been ten when I saw it for the first time. It was in June, just after school broke up. As a treat, Peter and Robert sailed me round it in Stormy Petrel . How they fussed over their little sister – and how I wanted to be fussed. The sky was perfect azure. I remember all those gulls nesting in the girders beneath the house and on the roof too. And my brothers were the most handsome beaux any girl of ten could imagine – brown, lean, golden gods. They even smelled good. Now, I’m babbling.’
    ‘Oddly enough, I remember Robert more than Peter. He once tried to teach me to box – it wasn’t a success. I don’t think he liked me much.’
    ‘Robert was an acquired taste. Of course, mother doted on Peter. Fortunately, Robert couldn’t care less – he positively enjoyed being the less favoured.’
    ‘You know, I spent an evening with your parents last time I was on leave.’
    ‘They mentioned it in their last letter. How was it – honestly?’
    ‘Pretty awful.’
    ‘I thought it might have been.’
    ‘Your dad was all right – but he always is. By the time dinner was finished, I was, of course, too drunk to drive back to our place so they put me up for the night – in Robert’s room. Out like a light, until I was woken about three in the morning by the sound of breaking glass. I got up to see what was wrong. Your mom, of course, was drunk and had knocked over a table.’
    ‘Normal.’
    ‘I didn’t go downstairs, but waited in the shadows of the landing in case she needed help. But she was OK – I heard her open another bottle. And then it got weird; she was talking to someone . I knew it wasn’t your dad because I could hear him snoring. It was Peter.’
    ‘What did she say?’
    ‘She was complaining about your living in England – and having married an impoverished scientist.’
    ‘She exaggerates. Brian, by British standards, is very well paid.’
    ‘That’s what she meant. In any case, your mom wanted Peter to come over and sort you out.’
    ‘Totally predictable. She’s a broken record on that one.’
    ‘Oddly enough, Peter didn’t say a thing.’
    ‘That’s not funny, Kit.’
    ‘Sorry… maybe, I wasn’t listening hard enough.’
    ‘Stop it.’
    Kit took her by the shoulders. ‘Let me see your face, Jennie. Yes, you can’t hide it – the faintest crack of a smile.’
    ‘OK, I’m not immune to your black humour. But you shouldn’t make fun of other people’s grief.’
    ‘I stand corrected. Let’s get on to safer ground. Tell me about your husband.’
    ‘Brian is absolutely lovely.’
    ‘I thought he was a scientist.’
    ‘Kit, you’re starting to be a bit tedious.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Brian, as you probably know, works in the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment on Orford Ness. That’s why we moved to Suffolk from Aldermaston.’
    ‘I bet he’s something really important.’
    ‘Well, I suppose he is; he’s head of project. Brian is an excellent scientist and is admired by everyone who works for him.’
    Kit lowered his voice and pressed his cousin’s hand. ‘What do you think of his work?’
    ‘I don’t like it – and Brian doesn’t like it either. It must be awful for him. He’s a very gentle man and part of him loathes working on the thing.’
    ‘Does he tell you that?’
    Jennifer paused. ‘Not in so many words.’
    ‘Do you argue much about it?’
    ‘Stop being perceptive.’ Jennifer picked up a flat stone and skimmed it across a pair of waves. For a second the North Sea had turned into the Aegean. Jennifer’s body scored the grey sky with the clean lines and Attic grace of a perfect Artemis. Kit felt hopeless desire bore into his brain like a hot drill.
    ‘You …’ Kit looked away from his cousin. He couldn’t find words to complete the sentence.
    Then Jennifer was talking. ‘Well, if you really want to know, I think the whole thing is a silly waste of money. You can’t imagine the