“Goodness me, no!” Eels chuckles. “We folklorists have to keep a level head. Stories like this often perform a social function. In this case, generations of worried parents have used the malamander as a bogeyman, to keep their children away from the sea. The beach at low tide can be very dangerous.”

“And the roaring, wailing sound,” I say, “that you can sometimes hear from the sea? People say that’s the malamander calling for its long-lost mate.”

“People will say anything for a bit of attention,” says Eels with a superior smile. “But it’s just the wind howling around the wreck of the old battleship. Nothing mysterious about that.”

“What did my dad think? I wonder.” Vi stares straight ahead as she asks this.

“Oh, dear Peter,” Eels replies with a shake of the head. “He had some fanciful notions. He could have been a great man if… Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? Such a tragedy he died so young.”

“My parents aren’t dead,” says Violet, firmly. “Only missing.”

Sebastian Eels says nothing.

“What, er, notions?” I ask, because I really don’t like these awkward pauses.

“Well, I don’t mind admitting that Peter and I didn’t always see eye to eye,” says Eels. “But his conclusions about the malamander were especially … comical. He actually seemed to believe the creature was real! It’s probably just as well he didn’t finish his book – if it had been published, it would have been a great embarrassment for him.”

“Wait, my dad was writing about the malamander too?” says Vi.

Eels turns to look at her sharply. If I had to guess, I’d say Violet has just revealed how little she really knows.

“Indeed,” he says.

“And you’ve read it?” says Vi. “My dad’s book?”

Sebastian Eels pauses, as if measuring up how to respond. “I read some of the manuscript, yes. But it was never finished, and – sadly – all Peter’s papers have gone missing too. Such a shame.”

We reach the steps back up to the town.

“Well, goodbye, Violet Parma,” says Eels, lifting his hat. “I would rest that leg up for a few days if I were you.” He begins to turn away but suddenly swings back. “Oh, but if you should come across any of your dear father’s writings, I would be prepared to offer a reasonable price for them.”

“You’d buy my dad’s unpublished book?” says Violet. “I thought you said it was ‘comical’.”

“I’d still like to preserve his work.” Eels smiles. “For old times’ sake.” Then he fixes Violet with a narrow eye. “I’d pay handsomely even for a single page … should you find one.”

And with another tip of his hat, Sebastian Eels turns and strides away across the beach.

JENNY HANNIVER