“What’s that?”

“Just wait.”

He felt her warm hand on his skin. He hoped it didn’t look suspect from Effie’s point of view, behind him—but what were they doing? Nothing. The sea receded again for a few moments, and then Alma pointed out another swell—he could see it darkly forming—which paled and crested and crashed, and once again they were submerged almost to the knees in the cold onrush of water. Henry stood still. The current pushed, stilled for a second, then tugged in the opposite direction, back out to sea, and when the water receded, sure enough, his feet were half buried in the sand. He looked at Alma and laughed.

“See?” she said, letting go of him. “Stand still a couple more times and you’ll be buried to the ankles. You can’t trust the ground around here.”

While they waited for another wave she told him there were patches of quicksand all over the beach. “You can see them clearly, don’t worry, they’re little pools. But look out for them. They’re old trenches or pipes under the sand, probably. I stepped in one a couple of days ago and fell to my waist. I had to claw my way out.”

“Jesus.”

“I know. But it just goes to show…”

Another wave crashed and swept over them, and this time, pointlessly, Henry took hold of Alma’s arm—gripped it firmly, close to her wrist. She didn’t pull her arm away, though she had to hold it at an awkward angle. As the wave withdrew, he let her go. Silently now they waited for another one. It came, and when it receded, it was just as Alma had said: Henry’s feet were completely submerged in the sand, and hers were too, even farther, above the ankles.

“Just imagine,” she said, pulling one foot and then the other free. “Just imagine all the things buried in here.”

“A pirate’s treasure.”

“The bones of a sea monster.”

They made their way back to the others. Alma sat on the bare sand beside her brother, and Henry took a corner of Effie’s towel. She was curled up in a ball, her head resting on her knees, her arms hugging the back of the dress to her thighs. Her eyes were closed and her mouth hung open. Henry put his arm around her. “You look awful, baby,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

Clara gave Henry a theatrical frown. “She’s really caught something, the poor thing. It’s come on her so suddenly.”

“I can’t breathe out my nose,” Effie said.

“Do you have a fever?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know,” Effie said miserably. “I feel cold.”

In fact she was shivering. Henry held her close.