Robin starts down the path, insisting they can make it to the beach and back before the light recedes.
The spineless sand puts up no resistance when they arrive. Several standing stones monitor its every move just in case it decides to tell. To the left, expurgated into the sandstone are three inconsequential looking caves watch the four from the side-lines. To the right, ignoring it all, stands the vertical and faceless cliff.
‘I think the tide’s coming in,’ Jenny says. ‘It’s going to be dark soon. Maybe we should go.’
‘Spoilsport,’ shouts the dark-haired man seizing the red-haired woman’s hand, pulling her towards the largest of the three apertures. He’s already undoing the belt on his trousers.