“Sea glass!” says Mrs F, also noticing Violet’s wondering expression. “Mermaid’s tears! Broken bottle bits, thrown away as rubbish, rolled by the sea for countless tides, turned to jewels by the power of nature.”

Mrs Fossil is sitting in a rickety folding beach chair surrounded by teetering mountains of beachcomber finds. There are more glass jars containing minerals, tide-rolled pieces of china, shells of every possible shape and pattern. There are petrified dinosaur bones piled next to lost frogman flippers, fishermen’s floats and children’s plastic toys by the basket. Nets hang from the ceiling like the webs of giant sea spiders, and over everything floats the scent of tea and toast, and the mysterious faraway tang of the ocean.

“Come along in!” Mrs Fossil waves us over. “I would boil the kettle, but…” She indicates her right hand.

Mrs Fossil’s arm is laid out on a makeshift table made from half a surfboard and a plastic drum. Her sleeve is rolled back to reveal, across her hand and wrist, a curve of angry red wounds.

“That must really hurt,” says Violet.

“It’s just a bit numb today,” says Mrs F, though one look at her pained expression suggests it actually hurts a great deal. “And I can already move my fingers again. The doc says I’ll be right as rain in a jiffy.”

“If by ‘jiffy’ you mean a week, then maybe,” says Dr Thalassi. “You are lucky I didn’t have to call an ambulance yesterday.”

“What did this, Doc?” I say, pointing at the horrible wounds.

Dr Thalassi waggles his great black eyebrows until the specs on his forehead fall down onto his beaky nose. He leans over Mrs F’s arm.

“When I first saw this, I thought it was a jellyfish sting. See how the red marks are strung out in a line? But closer inspection reveals puncture marks. There is no doubt this is a bite. The bite of a large, venomous creature.”

“I didn’t know we had creatures like that here,” I say, glancing at Violet.

“We don’t,” says the doc, pushing his glasses back up to his forehead.

“But we do in stories,” says Mrs Fossil in a quiet voice. “We have the malamander.”

“What did you see, Mrs Fossil?” says Violet. “When this happened? What can you remember?”

Mrs Fossil goes pale. Or paler than she is already. “Teeth,” she whispers. “Teeth like needles. It came out of a rock pool beside me as I was admiring something I’d found. I had no time to react…”

“You mustn’t get agitated,” says the doc, beginning to bind her arm. “It only accelerates the poison around your system. Please try to relax.”

“We found your bucket,” Violet tells her, holding it up. “I tried to pick up everything that had fallen out.”

“Thank you, my dear.”