With the picnic things?

But we have it all to ourselves now, we can play for a while.

So they did, until they saw how far the sea had come in.

They had to run for it, in their swimming things and carrying their stuff, he with his camera held high, she with the picnic basket over her head, wading through the incoming water that seemed to come so much faster once it had rounded the tips of the island. Then putting on their clothes with the wet swimming things beneath, and back across the marsh, dishevelled, wet, sandy, muddy, laughing. Driving like that home to the farm, Kumiko’s black hair salt-dry and grainy with sand. Loving her like that. Not wanting to show her like that to his mother, his brother, somehow indecent as if it showed on her, the sex they had had in the dunes. But only his mother to see them when they got in, Richard not back yet.

Is there time, he said, for a bath before supper?

Yes, if you’re quick.

Kumiko bathed and washed her hair, and they had supper outside because inland there was no wind and the evening was warm.

Did you have a good day? Richard asked.

Yes, he said. A very good day.