‘Bedtime.’ Eric scoops up Sorrel and heads for the stairs.

‘Bedtime for us too.’ Grace rises. ‘Come on, kids.’ She kisses Martin. ‘Great adaptation,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t be too long.’

Outside the moon is shining on the olive trees; there is a dense scatter of stars in the sky. The bushes rustle quietly as they brush past them. When a dark cat-like shape bounds across the path Grace stops, shocked. It vanishes up a tree, the wide tail disappearing into the leaves.

‘What was that?’

‘A pine marten,’ Charley whispers. ‘There are tons of them here, Izzy’s been watching them for days. She says the fathers eat their own babies.’ She sounds disbelieving.

Blake is hitting the bushes with a branch from an olive tree; he looks absorbed.

‘Careful, you might hurt something,’ Grace tells him; he glances up, surprised, as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing.

She shepherds the children into the stone building and shuts the door. The bedrooms are whitewashed, each with a view of the garden, a shower and wide, soft beds. Martin comes in after an hour; he starts snoring as soon as he lies down. Grace lies awake, disappointed and relieved at the same time. The scent of sage and thyme drifts through the open shutters; from somewhere in the garden the glass plates clash together gently, making discordant music in the dark.

Izzy can’t believe how ugly pine martens are. They look as though they can’t decide whether to be badgers or cats or some kind of weasel. There are lots around here, they have beady eyes and lumpy bodies and scrabbly paws. They hide up in the pine trees so you’re not sure if they’re there and whether one might fall on you at any moment. Sometimes they creep along the walls like giant rats. No one else knows where the den is; it’s her secret, hers alone. She saw the mother pine marten going into a hole near the bottom of a dried-up tree. It came out again later with a smaller one following it and they went scuttling off together. They didn’t come back, that was yesterday. Izzy is pretty sure there’s still one left inside the hole, though; when she went close up she could hear scuffling noises. Now she’s watching from behind another tree. There’s a new big pine marten who’s arrived and is waiting outside the hole, probably a male one, the father maybe. He’s crouching near the hole and keeping really, really still. It’s boiling hot and the crickets are loud. There are ants crawling all over her feet and sweat is trickling down her back. She tries to breathe in and out very slowly so the daddy pine marten won’t see any movement. There is a lizard on a stone near her left foot, like a plastic toy, green with little yellow bumps all down its back. She can hear Poppy’s voice in the distance, calling her. She smiles, Poppy hasn’t a clue where she is. Then her father starts, his voice is much louder obviously, and she’s worried it will scare the pine marten. ‘Darling’, then a little later ‘Izzy Tizzy’, which makes her want to vomit. Finally, he shuts up. She’s safe. The only person who could possibly find her is Blake, who has started following her around like a little dog, but he’s helping Eric cut stuff in the garden this afternoon. This is about the furthest away you can get from the house and still be inside the fence. After maybe half an hour the daddy pine marten crouches lower and goes stiff; a baby pine marten starts coming out of the hole and he pounces faster than you can see and the baby makes a noise like a rusty door opening. The daddy pine marten’s jaws clench tight on the baby’s tummy, which kind of bulges out then opens up, a bit like a purse with a red lining that’s come unzipped. The daddy pine marten runs off with it in its mouth; the baby is actually still moving though not much. When Izzy goes nearer to look at where they’d been, there is blood on the ground, it’s still warm. The ants are at it already. The baby was powerless. It wasn’t that interesting after all.