Michael and I helped turn the rowing boat over, and then we dragged it down towards the water. There were long lines of barbed wire all along the beach, scoring the sand like razor-hooked fishing lines, but someone from the village had flattened sections of it, and cut other parts back so that children could still take their little boats out or swim in the bay. It was probably against the law, but no one seemed to mind much and the coastguard had turned a blind eye.

When we got to the water, Mags turned to me and said, ‘Why don’t you wait here for us, Pet? The boat isn’t really big enough for three. You could do some drawing or something.’

I stared at her, and she stared steadily back. Her clear, dark eyes said, You’re not welcome.

There were lots of things I could have said to my sister at that moment, but the one that came out of my mouth was, ‘I can’t draw – I haven’t got my sketchbook.’

‘There’s paper and a pencil in my bag,’ she laughed, tossing me the canvas backpack. Then she took off her coat, rolled it up, and threw it at me too.

I watched as my sister climbed into the rowing boat. Michael pushed the boat out until it was floating freely, then he climbed in too, and Mags started pulling at the oars. As the boat grew smaller and smaller, I became aware of my boots sinking more deeply into the sludgy sand, and the deeper they sank, the angrier I felt.

Mags and I had always squabbled, but usually Mutti forced us to make up quickly. ‘Be the bigger person, Petra,’ she’d whisper. It was always me that had to be the bigger person (even though I was much smaller). It was always me that had to apologize, to swallow my pride and say sorry. But then it wasn’t possible for my sister to swallow her pride, was it? She had so much of it she’d probably choke . . .

I felt the wet sand closing over the toes of my boots. I turned my back on the sea, pulled my feet up with a revolting sucking sound, and returned to the higher, drier part of the bay.

I had been waiting for about half an hour, watching the quiet traffic of fishing boats on the glassy sea, before I realized that there was something very important that I could have been doing with my time. I could have kicked myself for forgetting about it.

I rummaged in the pockets of my sister’s coat, and found what I was looking for straight away. It was the piece of paper that Mags had taken from Spooky Joe.