Twice on the drive they passed what looked like traps for an animal. It happened half a mile apart: leghold traps chained to an upturned white bucket on which someone had written Poison. Registering Kane’s curiosity, Thomas smiled.

“Cat hunting.”

“Cats?”

“This place has got a wild cat problem,” Thomas said. “They eat the birds and the birds are too precious. This is one of the main breeding places in the Atlantic. So, the cats have to go.”

“Why the bucket?”

“Stop the crabs stealing the bait,” Thomas said. “It’s poisoned, you see, but the crabs have got a taste for it.”

“That’s why we don’t eat the local crabs,” Anne said. They both laughed.

“What happens if you eat the crabs?” Carina asked.

“Nothing, honey. We’re joking.”

“I’ve seen dogs around though,” Kane said. “No problem with the dogs?”

“Problem with the dogs is the owners. No one’s here for more than a few years, so the dogs get left behind. Mostly they get passed on. People inherit them. Not always, though. The dogs get used to being passed around.”

“Like a lot of things on this island,” Anne said. “A lot easier to share and pool your resources than to haul things to and fro.”

“You said I could have a dog,” Carina said.

“We said maybe. Can you remember what the problem was?”

“The base doesn’t want it.”

“That’s right.”

“Why can’t we live somewhere else? Jenny has a dog.”

It was another few minutes before they arrived at One Boat. Thomas stopped beside the structure from which the junction took its name: half an old rowing boat stood on its end. As Kane looked closer, he saw that it had become a strange kind of cupboard, filled with old trophies.

“It’s just near here. I’ll stop and you can take a look at some of the island’s curiosities.”

Kane got out of the car and went over to the boat. The pile of sports trophies glittered like unwanted treasure—cheap cups and statuettes, a tangle of medals, even a silver plate. Thomas followed him. The rest of the family stayed in the car.

“People leave them there when they go.”

“Why?”

“Maybe their suitcases are full. I don’t know. What are you going to say back home—‘I was the best darts player on a volcanic rock thousands of miles away from all other human life’? At least they mean something here. Have you seen the Lizard?”

“No.”

“It’s over here.”

A little farther along the road was a garish paint-splashed stone, waist height. The entire rock and the ground around it were covered in colored paint. The smell of paint hung in the hot air.

“Meet the Lizard,” Thomas said. “Superstition has it you should paint it before leaving. Some people think the shape looks like a lizard. Never quite seen it myself.”