We exhaust the possibilities of the rocky beach, and as the sun becomes searingly hot, we return to the villa. Dad is waiting for us in the sitting room. I feel my skin prickle with guilt: I wonder if he’s going to accuse us of abandoning him. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s going to admit he was responsible for Ruby-May’s accident and we can all move on. He clears his throat and I find myself leaning towards him, desperately hoping it’s going to be okay.

‘Has anyone seen my picture of your mother?’

Bethany and Amy exchange a glance. Matt goes outside with the bags and starts shaking the sand out of the towels, banging the buckets and spades over-loudly against the stone steps, his back to us. He’s one of those men who likes to lead – coach football squads, manage men at work, be the head of a family – but this particular team derailed in August last year and now he’s lost. I’m the sort of guy who’d be looking for the hot-dog stand next to the football pitch, so I’m no stranger to the feeling.

‘What picture?’ Bethany asks.

‘It’s in a little silver frame.’

‘Why would you have a photo of Eleanor here?’ Bethany shakes her head. ‘You must be mixed up. It’s probably back in Somerset. You do know we’re in Italy, don’t you?’

‘I’m aware of that, Bethany. It’s a small, silver heart-shaped frame. I have it on my bedside table at home, but I bring it with me when I travel.’

I look at him in astonishment. ‘I gave you that.’

‘You did. It was a Father’s Day present.’

‘That was years ago. I was, what, ten?’

I’m vaguely aware of Luca and the children heading out the back door, clutching coloured chalks like an amulet against our swimming pool.

‘And it’s gone missing?’ Amy asks him.

Chloe arches her perfectly manicured eyebrows. It looks as if she’s mimicking Bethany. Maybe she overheard that we found Dad’s journal, after he’d claimed it had been stolen by a stranger standing in his bedroom.

‘Who would have thought you’d be so sentimental?’ Bethany says under her breath.

‘Someone’s taken it,’ Dad says, sounding plaintive. ‘It was by my bedside table. I remember unpacking it last night before I went to sleep.’

‘Want me to take a look?’ I ask.

‘If you would,’ he says. He sounds distressed, which is not like my father.