‘We’re being watched,’ April says quietly, guiding Will’s eyes with hers.

On the perimeter wall of the Martello tower stands a large white bird, its beak half open as if mesmerized.

‘That’s a massive seagull,’ Will says, keeping dead still.

‘It’s an egret. They’re a type of heron. They live on the marshes.’

Will returns the egret’s stare, but it becomes apparent that it’s not looking at Will and April at all but staring at the empty space behind them. Will scans the damp concrete for whatever food or animal might have taken its fancy. There’s nothing there. The egret begins to chatter, its beak juddering as it remonstrates furiously with the empty dawn air.

Moving slowly, April extracts her phone and begins to frame a photo. ‘One beautiful detail,’ she whispers, sniggering at the bird. ‘Remember Ms Calloway’s assignment?’

‘Yeah, not done it yet,’ Will whispers back.

‘Perfect opportunity. And she even told us to work as a team.’

Will reaches into his rucksack. By feel alone, he extracts his old Olympus from its leather case. ‘Use this,’ he says.

Turning his back on the sun, he aims at the space behind him and takes a swift light reading, accidentally taking a shot in his haste. The bird still chatters away, oblivious. ‘Focus under the wing, I reckon,’ Will says.

April takes the camera from him. ‘Let’s keep the sun in the middle of shot.’

Will watches over her shoulder and claps his hands together. The egret stares at Will for a moment before taking flight. It’s barely three metres from them when its feathered wingspan becomes a silhouette against the risen sun. The camera clacks and whirs as April releases the shutter and winds on in as rapid a succession as the mechanism will allow.

‘Did we get it?’ April asks, looking at the back of the camera. She chuckles as she remembers there’s no screen there to check.

‘There’s the problem with film, I’m afraid,’ Will says.

‘I need instant gratification!’ April says, laughing. ‘I was born in the twenty-first century. Don’t do patience.’

Will checks the time. ‘Maybe you don’t have to.’

He chucks the camera back in his bag and helps April to her feet.

‘Where are you taking me now, William Parks?’

‘Where do you normally go on a Friday morning?’

‘Erm, school?’

‘Got it in one. Never let it be said I don’t know how to have fun.’

‘That is the last thing I’d say about you.’

Will stops for a moment, puzzled. It seems she’s being serious. Ridiculous.

In those flashes, those visions that feel so like a memory, I see their faces. Sometimes I hear the screams. Unmistakable. Children. I’m sure of it.