‘We’ll be going soon.’ Amy smooths her daughter’s flyaway hair where it’s stuck to her forehead.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Makes sense. She walked off with a bottle of booze.’

‘I can’t stand this any more.’ Chloe pushes herself to her feet from where she’s been slouched against the shaded side of the car. ‘I want to get off this island right now. I’m not staying here one more minute!’

‘You don’t seriously think Bethany really drank a whole bottle of Prosecco? Got so drunk she fell hard enough to knock herself out?’

‘What are we doing here?’ asks my father.

The Italians, less patient with delays than the British, start to honk their horns. A few of them are milling about in the road, and a cloud of cigarette smoke drifts over us. Theo coughs theatrically.

Matt shrugs. ‘Makes sense to me. I’d be plastered if I’d drunk that much. You’re right,’ he adds in a grudging tone. ‘She doesn’t normally drink that much, so she’s probably not used to it. But she does go for it in a big way when she’s stressed.’ He looks pointedly at me.

Amy makes a face. ‘Bee hadn’t eaten anything, and in this heat… It was dark. It would have been easy to slip and fall. In a way it’s a relief. How awful if she’d been attacked by someone.’

‘But…’ I say, and then remember I haven’t told them about the sexual assault. The noise from the car horns is making it hard to think.

‘That’s it – I’ve had it!’ Chloe strides away from us, her straight dark hair swinging down her back. She’s in denim hot pants and she looks like a child-woman, simultaneously fragile and fierce, sexy and vulnerable.

‘Chloe!’ Matt calls after her as she heads towards the dock, where a handful of officials in navy uniforms, lounging on the quay, straighten and smile at each other. One takes the cigarette from his mouth and gestures towards her. It’s not clear from this distance whether he’s welcoming her or highlighting her salient features to the others.

‘So that’s it?’ I say. ‘You’re just going to let the police fuck off back to wherever the hell they came from? Jesus, this is your sister we’re talking about!’

‘Nick!’ Amy admonishes me.

‘That’s a rude word,’ Lotte says.

‘Two rude words,’ says Theo.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my father ambling away, in the opposite direction to Chloe.

‘Listen, mate,’ says Matt. He’s not looking at me, he’s watching Chloe’s progress as she weaves in between the cars. The ferry men adjust their sunglasses and smile, like sharks.

‘Dad? Dad!’ Amy calls after our father. ‘Watch the kids, will you?’ she says to Matt.

‘Amy! Leave him! I need to get Chloe.’