She stood, self-consciously. It was her first time out by herself at night for ages. She stepped onto the road like a sick person, unsure of her feet, uncertain of her surroundings. Sara was already half-way up the hill. Overhead, four swans, like sheets clapping in the wind, were flying across the evening sky. There was a smell of rain on stones, of coarse unhampered growth from the ditches. Tired valerian was everywhere. She allowed Sara to cross the hill and then flew after her. From the crest, Catherine saw her sister walking very slowly past the beach at Scotchport. Passing the boathouse she became a shadow on the other side of the road. Then, getting by the houses, she ran, one wrist swinging, her other hand held firmly against her stomach, and her head down.

She turned a further corner, and doing so, stole a look behind towards the houses.

Catherine, terrified that she might be seen, hesitated.

But the light was fast fading. Darkness was rolling in from the sea with low, fast-moving clouds. The horizon gave off a thin sheen of electricity. Then, at a given note, all the voices of the birds stopped. Catherine wanted to turn back, hearing the mockery in Sara’s voice if she was seen. But she followed on. Three flashes of light from Eagle Island lit up the sky. Breathless, she looked down the straight road that led from the corner, but could see no sign of her sister. With an ache of the groin she thought of Sara holding Jack Ferris in her arms. The distance became a dark spot in front of her eyes till again came the swinging lights. Disappointed, she walked along uneasily. She feared that Sara was hiding from her deliberately, and half-expecting her to jump out at any minute, Catherine stopped, wondering.

There was a lane of white sand to the right that led eventually to the dunes. Catherine, her fists gripped tight in the pockets of her coat, walked down the lane about a hundred yards to where the windswept grass ended and the rising furze of the bog began.