The school was on the mainland but the news about Wally Trehern’s warts returned with him and his teacher to the Island. The Island was incorrectly named: it was merely a rocky blob of land at the end of an extremely brief, narrow and low-lying causeway which disappeared at full tide and whenever the seas along that coast ran high. The Island was thus no more than an extension of the tiny fishing village of Portcarrow and yet the handful of people who lived on it were accorded a separate identity as if centuries of tidal gestures had given them an indefinable status. In those parts they talked of ‘islanders’ and ‘villagers’ making a distinction where none really existed.

The Portcarrow school-mistress was Miss Jenny Williams, a young New Zealander who was doing post graduate research in England, and had taken this temporary job to enrich her experience and augment her bursary. She lodged on the Island at The Boy-and-Lobster, a small Jacobean pub, and wrote home enthusiastically about its inconveniences. She was a glowing, russet-coloured girl and looked her best that afternoon, striding across the causeway with the wind snapping at her hair and moulding her summer dress into the explicit simplicity of a shift. Behind her ran, stumbled and tacked poor Wally, who gave from time to time a squawking cry not unlike that of a seagull.

When they arrived on the Island she told him she would like to see his mother. They turned right at the jetty, round a point and into Fisherman’s Bay. The Treherns lived in the least prepossessing of a group of cottages. Jenny could feel nothing but dismay at its smell and that of Mrs Trehern who sat on the doorstep and made ambiguous sounds of greeting.

‘She’m sozzled,’ said Wally, and indeed, it was so.

Jenny said: ‘Wally: would you be very kind and see if you can find me a shell to keep. A pink one.’ She had to repeat this carefully and was not helped by Mrs Trehern suddenly roaring out that if he didn’t do what his teacher said she’d have the hide off of him.

Wally sank his head between his shoulders, shuffled down to the foreshore and disappeared behind a boat.

‘Mrs Trehern,’ Jenny said, ‘I do hope you don’t mind me coming: I just felt I must say how terribly glad I am about Wally’s warts and – and – I did want to ask about how it’s happened. I mean,’ she went on, growing flurried, ‘it’s so extraordinary. Since yesterday. I mean – well – it’s – Isn’t it?’

Mrs Trehern was smiling broadly. She jerked her head and asked Jenny if she would take a little something.

‘No, thank you.’ She waited for a moment and then said: ‘Mrs Trehern, haven’t you noticed? Wally’s hands? Haven’t you seen?’