A messy breakup, significant project delays at work. The sound of the ocean rolled uphill and over me, and slowly I felt myself relax. I lay back, watching the breakers slowly progressing into the bay, stretching the kinks from the drive out of my back. I walked slowly through the house, opening windows to let the building air, and dragged one of the patio chairs outside so that I could enjoy the view down to the sea while enjoying a lukewarm beer. I turned on the power at the breaker box, and unpacked the selection of supplies that I'd brought with me into cupboards. The lock in the front door had seized with salt, so I entered via the aluminium sliding door on the patio, making a mental note in passing to check whether Dad's oil and tools were still under the kitchen sink. I smiled as I reached up to brush a low-hanging branch I regarded the tree as mine, and I always said hello to him when I came to visit. Eighteen years of hot, bright summers and a shallow water table had suited the tree, and I didn't doubt it would double in height again before I died. I parked the Audi in the deep sandy shade under the Christmas tree that we'd planted when I was seven. It was a good name for our family's little slice of heaven, far enough away from the world that you might not see another soul except in the highest of high summer. The property name was still visible on the aged wooden nameplate the single word etched out by the less weathered silhouette of long-since flaked paint. The sun was still some way clear of the horizon when I turned into the private gated lane, flanked by the unkempt hedge and secured by a single link of chain that held the gate closed on a rusting steel nail. I was long overdue some me-time, and I planned to make the most of my long weekend away. It had been nearly a season since I had last been to the family holiday house, an entire spring and summer too full of work and crises for me to be where I loved most - up to my neck in the ocean, or surfing down the face of a wave on a surf-ski. I could smell the sea, and I desperately hoped it would still warm enough for a swim when I got there. Tall trees arched overhead at intervals, casting dappled sunlight over the interior of the Audi and the remains of my junk-food lunch in its crumpled waxpaper wrapping.

I tapped my fingers absently on the steering wheel as I maneuvered my car through the final sweeping turn, keeping my speed down to what I'd term 'moderately stupid' as opposed to 'suicidal'. Though that scene didn't make it in here, it is what started it. This one started with Anna, naked in the sea. All my stories seem to start with a vision, or a landscape, or one of the characters.

Shades of elysium unpacked