Then he paused. ‘Ivy said last night that you have to talk to Frankie every day?’ She really was set on that counsellor – she’d even put her up in a local Airbnb.

‘Frankie.’ Forest was grimacing. ‘You can drop me off there later. Right now, I want to go to the beach.’

The sound of waves and wind, gulls cawing, children screaming and laughing in the waves. The beaming summer heat.

Mackerel left his shoes in the car, tiptoeing across the hot asphalt of the carpark and onto the hot sand. He took a deep breath, listening to someone’s music playing nearby.

Forest walked ahead, right down to the tide line, water up to his ankles. The boy looked much more alive here, away from Safe Harbour – Mackerel thought again of how much Forest seemed to hate restriction.

Mack was still filled with anger about whatever had happened to the boy, but that emotion was less strong than it had been. All of his emotions felt burned out now: grief for Davey, fear of Blackbeard, anger about Forest, confusion over what to say to Shelby . . .

Anyway, here at the beach, he could let it all fade.

He stepped into the ocean and gave a sigh as the cold sea water reached up around his ankles, cooling his feet.

Forest crouched, playing with the wet sand from under the waves. Then he picked up a shell. He looked out over the ocean for a moment longer, then returned to Mackerel, holding out the shell. It was an Adelaide top shell, with its leopard print.

‘Here. Hold it in your hand,’ said Forest.

Mackerel took the shell in his right hand but Forest quickly took it from him and pushed it into his left hand. ‘No. Vena amoris, the vein of love. It runs into your left hand, from your heart. Your heart’s blood is salt water. It works better in your left hand.’

‘What does?’ said Mackerel.

‘I want to show you something. It’s . . . it’s a bit strange, but pretty cool.’

‘What is it?’ said Mackerel.

‘Our family . . . our relationship with the sea . . .’ Forest looked out over the ocean. ‘Sometimes, shells speak to me. The ocean speaks to me.’

‘Shells speak to you?’ Where had Mackerel heard that before?

Forest stepped to the side. ‘Bring the tip of the shell to your mouth and clearly tell it a secret. You have to look out to the ocean as you do.’

Mackerel chuckled. ‘You just want me to look like an idiot.’

‘Uncle Mack . . .’ Forest’s voice was deadly serious. ‘Just let me show you. But you have to take it seriously: it doesn’t work if the secret doesn’t come from your heart.’

Mackerel looked towards the ocean. ‘You’re not playing a joke on me?’