‘No, they’re considering taking submersibles down. We’re trying to put a small museum dedicated to the Kea wrecks together. So far, it’s just a few bits of memorabilia that the locals gathered in their nets over the century, or bits that washed up just after it happened. A couple of cork lifesavers with the name stencilled on. A lifeboat, complete with oars, though the plaque has gone to Liverpool’s maritime museum; and some enlarged pictures of the Britannic’s construction in Belfast. There’s a video too, sponsored by one of the dive-equipment manufactures. I’ll take you to have a look if you like. Tell me about your great-grandmother.’

‘Nothing much to tell, yet. I’m just starting to look into her life. First World War and all that. She passed away in ’98, a few days after her hundredth birthday.’

‘A great age. Jacques Cousteau took one of the surviving nurses down in a submersible to see the wreck. Sheila MacBeth was in her eighties at that time. Those nurses were quite remarkable women by all accounts.’

When he smiled, the knots in her shoulders melted away. ‘No, I didn’t know. That was kind of him, and brave of her.’

‘Your great-grandmother must have had some stories to tell.’

‘I guess she did, but I was only thirteen when she died. My mother was heartbroken. You see, her mother died just after giving birth, so my great-grandmother stepped into my grandmother’s role. She was quite wonderful.’

‘You were lucky; most of us never get to meet our great-grandparents, or hear their experiences.’

‘Gran Gertie was a strong woman. I loved her very much, but I didn’t know about her being on the Britannic until recently. She was unbelievably brave. You see, you had to be a minimum of twenty-three to be accepted in the Voluntary Aid Detachment, but she was so determined to nurse the wounded soldiers, she lied about her age and got away with it.’

‘She sounds cute.’

‘Cute?’

He raised his hand as if to stop her words hitting him. ‘Sorry, wrong word, perhaps. I didn’t mean . . . she just sounded cool, that’s all.’ He stood.

‘No, it’s me who’s sorry – ignore me, I’m just tired.’ She smiled. ‘I was travelling through the night and then I noticed a turtle nesting just before dawn so I stayed up to watch. Such an amazing thing . . .’ Damn, she wasn’t going to tell anyone. She blamed her loose tongue on lack of sleep. Lids heavy now, skin itchy, and her brain running on five per cent battery. ‘Anyway, it was so magical, I sat on the beach for another hour and watched.’ She sighed. ‘Must go for some shut-eye, Harry, I’m in danger of nodding off while I speak.’

‘Poor you.’ He laughed gently and sat down again. ‘Just before you go, can I ask, was she tagged, the turtle, did you notice?’