We had come here as children. Our most concrete memories were when we were 6 and 8, sitting on the creased leather back seat of our old racing green, but faded, VW Beetle. Mum and dad up front, back when they were still our parents. Well, acting like they enjoyed being parents and still together then. Wolfie, our grey wire-haired mongrel, sat between us. He’d been given to mum as a puppy and was supposed to be an Irish Wolfhound, or at least part wolfhound, but only grew to half the size. “ You’ve got an Irish Wolfhound there!” people told us before he stopped growing, so the name stuck. Here we were, returning to this beloved spot, long after Wolfie had passed to greener pastures, and our parents thinking they had after their divorce. Those were the days, we agreed, asking “Who’s going to be first to see the sea?” And “Are we there yet?” The two of us and Wolfie would run whooping across the cliff tops and there below, was the sparkling sea, shining like a mirror, keeping our secrets.