It was amazing what one could find in the sand. Graham wasn't a professional beachcomber by any means, but he considered himself lucky. Over the years, he, his metal detector and spade had unsanded coins, rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets and watches, as well as the usual junk like fishing weights, rusty nails, cans and ring-pulls.

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Coins and gold jewellery were always good, of course, but, secretly, Graham enjoyed finding keys the best. They were rare and special. He loved blowing the sand off them slowly, revealing their shape. He relished the sleekness of the metal, the uniqueness and mystery of their form; knowing each one fitted perfectly into a lock somewhere.

In his head, they opened Bentley motor cars, safes full of jewels, palaces, treasure chests. But in reality, he knew the keys were useless without the doors they opened. Where would he keep them anyway? Someone had suggested putting them on a string round his neck, like talismans. But, after imprinting their shapes and feel in his memory, he simply threw them away, or back down onto the sand for someone else to find.

There was just one Yale key which he had kept, threaded on a long piece of sweat-stained string round his neck so that it hung close to his heart, where he would finger it lovingly. In his head, Graham jokingly thought of it as his 'skeleton key' or, more affectionately, 'her', remembering in detail the scratches on his face and how he had pulled it from the blonde's clenched hand just before burying her body.

The trouble was, he realised later, that the metal rested so quietly next to his skin on its own, with nothing to clink against. He imagined the key was lonely; he didn't like to think of her lying there alone...

8 November, 2007