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The band left the stage and headed to a quiet corner near the end of the bar which had been roped off for them.

‘They’re really good, aren’t they? Especially Marielle. With such a great voice and presence, she could make it on her own.’

She certainly had ‘presence’, as Zennor termed it. Her voice was soulful and jam-packed with emotion whether she was belting out rock anthems or holding the audience in the palm of her hand with a torch song.

He agreed with Zennor: she could do bigger and better than weddings and corporate shindigs.

‘Wow. They are fantastic. I wasn’t sure what to expect from a local act but wow. So good,’ Yolande said to Zennor.

‘They are,’ Zennor said, visibly basking in the praise for her clients.

‘Ty says you used to sing – you and Matt,’ Yolande went on.

‘That was meant to be between us,’ Ty said, yet rolled his eyes good-humouredly. ‘I can’t trust you to keep a secret.’

‘I didn’t know it was a secret,’ Yolande protested.

‘It isn’t,’ Matt said. ‘Ty’s winding you up.’

‘Only on the odd night at the pub when we were very young,’ Zennor cut in.

‘And very drunk,’ Matt added. ‘At least I was.’

Everyone laughed, although Matt wasn’t convinced by Zennor’s smile.

‘Ah! Hello. Are you enjoying yourselves?’

The hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stood on end. Trev had approached the table, all smiles and affability. Matt sensed Zennor stiffening beside him but he kept repeating his mantra: be nice for her sake.

Knowing nothing of the history between them, Yolande answered cheerfully. ‘It’s great. The music is brilliant.’

‘That’s thanks to Zennor,’ Trev said. ‘She spotted the band and pianist.’

‘I only booked them,’ Zennor said hastily.

‘Yes. But you knew they’d be a perfect fit for the Piano Bar and I had total faith in your judgement.’ He turned to Matt. ‘Matt. Good to see you. Thanks for supporting tonight.’

‘I’ll support anything that helps the Surf Club,’ Matt said as pleasantly as he could.

‘I must admit it was all ridiculously last minute and I’m amazed how many people dropped everything to come and lend their support. In fact I was chatting to Dawn and she was saying how much work you’d done gratis at the clubhouse and so I thought I ought to do my bit too. You don’t mind, do you, Matt?’

Matt minded more than any reasonable man should mind and yet he had no choice but to say, ‘Like I said, if it’s for the club, it’s fine by me.’ His phone beeped, giving him the chance to glance away. ‘Oh dear. That’s my car app saying I’ve left it unlocked – not that I’d expect it to be nicked at an upmarket place like the St Piran’s, but better safe than sorry. See you in a minute.’

He walked out, not looking behind him, and walked past the doorman. He didn’t go to his car because he already knew it was locked: the beep had been a spam text.

Despite the windows being open to the evening air, the crowded room still felt warm and stuffy to Matt. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and wished he could ditch the jeans for board shorts, head down on to the beach and cool himself off with a swim under the stars. He couldn’t, of course, because he was an adult now and he had a responsibility to people to behave with maturity and dignity. He’d learned that impulsive and stupid actions that came with a short-lived moment of satisfaction were followed by a lifetime of regret.

His route took him past the working area of the hotel, which he’d last seen at Zennor’s wedding when he’d been hanging around trying to calm down. It had always intrigued Matt to see the parts of a hotel guests weren’t meant to. While no expense would be spared inside, the working areas showed the real character of the place: that glossy door from a bar or restaurant often led to a multitude of sins.

Despite its chic makeover, the St Piran’s was no different. In an alley between the kitchens and a storeroom, next to overflowing bins watched by sharp-eyed seagulls, the band was having a vape while Marielle sipped a bottle of Evian.

Matt stopped for a few seconds to observe them and had begun to move on but Marielle caught up with him.

‘Hey!’ She was a little out of breath. ‘I thought it was you. The guy who ruined Trev and Zennor’s wedding.’

Matt sighed and then frowned, taking a closer look at the singer. Marielle’s kohled eyes and dyed raven hair didn’t ring a bell at all with him. He’d never met a Marielle as far as he knew and yet … her husky voice and long, tanned limbs sparked a memory … one that, now he’d realised, he couldn’t ignore.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Long time no see. You look different.’