The wooden heart I lifted from the window latch and fingered the rough grooves of its carving for a moment, appreciating again the effort, thinking how I had never thanked Ben for making it, this surprising skill of his. Then I returned it to the window. I had the real thing joining me on my journey to the mainland, a real love. I needed no keepsake, no charm.

Intention to travel was to be registered the day before; I left it to the last moment. Even then, there would be almost a whole day for the news to drop like a stone in a pool, sending its ripples to the edges.

Saul was out on the dogleg jetty when I crossed the cobbles, binoculars held to his face, braced against the safety of the railings that abutted the Customs House. I fought the sea breeze, holding down my lifting coat, pulling back the hair that whipped against my face, and went to stand beside him.

‘What can you see?’ I asked.

He dropped the binoculars to glance at me, returning to them quickly.

‘An egret, I think, a white one, on the rocks out there. They come this time of year to breed.’

‘Really,’ I said flatly; he’d used that word deliberately it felt – breed.

‘Take a look.’ He handed me the binoculars, nudging them gently so I could pick out the small outcrop a few hundred metres from our shore, something white on top, extending its long neck.

‘Beautiful,’ I said. ‘You like birds?’

‘I like nearly all of the visitors to our island.’ This time he was scoring a point; I chose to concede it.

‘The seals came back this year too,’ I said, the lives of wild creatures being so much easier to discuss than our own.

‘Oh, no, they haven’t been back here for years,’ Saul said with a shake of his head.

I didn’t understand. I’d heard one of the boatmen that week say that he had seen them. Had he lied? Seen things? Convinced himself of something out of blind hope?

‘The seals have some sense at least,’ said Saul, and he grasped my hand suddenly, making me flinch. I looked him in the eye, found myself gripping his hand in return.

‘Could it not be mine?’ he said. ‘The baby?’

The craving in his voice was unbearable. I gulped and gulped, willing myself to respond with something gentle, but instead I croaked out an accusation: ‘You drink with Jed Springer now?’

He let go. He stepped away, contemplating me for a moment, taking in the long view.

‘Right,’ he said, his tone brisk. ‘Let’s get you registered for this ship, then, shall we, the lovely Miss Cedars!’