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Finally, the sea comes into view.

‘Ah, I never get sick of that,’ I tell him as I take in the view. ‘I really missed it, living away.’

The beach looks different at this time of day, and this time of year too – it’s quieter, with more wide-open space. The promenade is almost empty, except for dog walkers, runners and one brave woman in a wetsuit.

‘Yeah, it’s beautiful,’ he says. ‘Is that why you decided to come home?’

My lips part, as though I’m going to speak, but then words fail me. How do you tell someone that the reason you’ve moved back home is because you fucked it all up?

‘Do you fancy a race?’ Adam asks, changing the subject.

I glance at him and he smiles. Oh, God love him for sensing that I didn’t want to talk about it.

‘A race?’ I reply.

‘Yeah, down the hill, to the beach,’ he suggests. ‘My friends and I used to do it all the time, when we were kids. It just popped into my head.’

‘Oh, no, no, no,’ I insist. ‘I will watch you run but, no, I’ll only embarrass myself. I’m so unfit.’

‘I’m trying to get in better shape but I’m no runner,’ he tells me.

‘It’s not that I’m against getting fit, it’s just that I’d rather get… a pastry,’ I tell him.

He laughs.

‘Well then, I will get you a pastry,’ he replies. ‘Eating something sugary on the seafront is also something I loved as a child.’

‘I bet,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Okay, go on then.’

‘Pastries and coffee,’ he says. ‘We can pretend we’re in Milan, instead of Marram Bay.’

‘Now that I would like,’ I say with a smile. ‘Thank you.’

I don’t know if Adam realises it, but that thank you is for both the pastry and the change of subject.

‘Wait here, I’ll get them. We’ll eat them on the beach,’ he says, his eyes widening with fake excitement.

It’s a nice day. Not too cold, and the sun is shining – a million miles from Milan, but it feels like winter is being kept at bay for now.

Adam returns in a matter of minutes with two coffees and two warm cinnamon pastries in paper bags.

‘Here we are,’ he says.

‘Thanks,’ I reply with a smile.

As we walk along the beach, I notice that something is going on. There is scaffolding and machinery and all sorts of things happening.

‘What’s going on here?’ I ask him.

‘This is work,’ he tells me. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Adam and I walk along the beach, the sand soft under our feet as we get closer to whatever it is that is happening.

‘Blossom FM, my radio station, is putting on a festival, the Marram Bay Bonfire Night Festival,’ he explains. ‘We’ve got some huge artists lined up to play. And I’m hosting it.’

‘Wow, that sounds amazing!’ I reply, genuinely impressed.

‘We’ve sold so many tickets, but it’s been one of those years where we’ve encountered problem after problem,’ Adam admits, running a hand through his hair. ‘I think we’re all just waiting for the next thing to go wrong.’