She had snapped the spout clean off the teapot. She couldn’t help but play with it for a while, seeing how neatly it fit back into place. From the right angle there was barely a crack to show it had been broken.

She remembered her time as a nurse, breaking ampoules. Those tiny glass fragments that fell into the medicine. But there was no needle or filter to stop the shards floating in the tea from ending up in the cups. She poured her sister’s first. It made an almighty mess.

I sort each stone according to what it might be good for. Building. Skimming. Forming to an edge. Cracking a skull. Holding down a sheet. At the shoreline, the sea spray in my eyes makes it difficult. When I am finished, I take only the best from each pile, and walk along the cliffs to the next beach.