I blink, disoriented. How is that possible? It’s felt like half the day I’ve been looking for Charlie, but of course, for Matthew to have caught up on foot would have taken longer. Still, everything feels bent, too fast and too slow at once.

“Can we go home?” my son asks brightly from the ground, and I feel at least that I’m here in the present moment. “I want some orange juice.”

John lets out a great, rumbling laugh. “Well, there we have it. He wanted to see the rock, now he wants orange juice. Mystery solved.”

It takes holding my breath to keep my voice from rising. “You can’t just wander off, Charlie.” I reach out to pull him up. He wraps his skinny arms around my waist and nestles in, and all the anger wafts out of me. “And we can’t go home. Daddy’s got a boat for us.”

Charlie’s head darts up. “Why a boat?”

Patience now, he’s only six. “You know we’re going on holiday, Charlie, and we’re holding everything up now, so—”

“I’ll shuttle you back,” John offers, glancing at his watch.

“In your truck?” Charlie asks, fully himself again, eyes electrified.

I turn to thank Matthew for staying with Charlie, briefly, politely, but he’s already left us, heading up the north track out of the grove. I watch him stride away, watch one of his hands drag against the trunk of an oak as if greeting a friend. It’s not until he disappears completely that I let out that breath.

Back at the truck, Charlie refuses my lap, kicking, so we squeeze side by side in the passenger seat and grin every time John slows down to shout a hello to the islanders we pass. It feels like we’re already on vacation, heading out into the sunshine, trouble behind us. My shoulders loosen with every bump of the road.

Charlie turns to look at me, his cheek squishing against mine. “When we get home, could I have some orange juice, please?”

Oh, good grief. “I told you, we’re not going home, Charlie. Our bags are already down at the launch. We’re going to head straight—”

“We’re not, though.”

I lean forward to peer at him. The mistiness in his expression has been replaced by stone-still certainty. He’s caught the island’s superstition, hasn’t he? Somebody’s been filling his head with nonsense. Matthew, maybe, or one of the village kids.

“Why would you say that?”

“I just feel like we’re not going to go.”

He shrugs, but he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the prospect of staying. Unlike the other kids, who practically sprinted from the village past our house on their way to the docks this morning. Not like they were excited about going on a camping trip. Like something was chasing them.