‘Linus, if you stand with the girls there,’ she said, taking them to the nearby hut where fizzy drinks, ice creams and newspapers were for sale, ‘I’m going to start unloading our stuff.’

‘You’re not in charge of me,’ she heard Elise say bossily to Linus as she hurried back up the gangplank. She found one of the crew standing in front of their not so much luggage as home, scratching his head in bafflement. Everything had been stacked into a precarious tower beside a door that led down to the bilge pumps.

‘Don’t worry, it’s ours. I’m here,’ Bell called, jogging up behind him and reaching down for the first load. ‘I’ll get it cleared out.’

‘How are you going to manage all that?’ he asked, frowning at the sight of her and all the luggage. At five feet four inches, she wasn’t small, but neither was she a seven-foot power-lifter. ‘You know we leave again in an hour?’

‘Not a problem. Our boat’s just . . . there,’ she huffed, hoisting a bulging soft leather holdall under each arm, along with three tennis racquets, the dolls’ house and the guitar. She jerked her chin towards the nearest porthole and beyond it, the Mogerts’ humble boat, Nymphea. In spite of the name, she was no beauty: she had a tired white hull, a dated red-painted water- and bowline, with a semi-enclosed cabin and just enough room for sitting out in front, more on the bench seats at the back. Max’s father had bought her when he was a teenager, Max ‘inheriting’ her when the twins were born (and, as Max muttered, the maintenance bills became unsustainable). Max called her a plodder: she was unimaginative but dependable for ferrying the family and small groups from their island to others in the vicinity and, of course, back to here. Sandhamn was their portal back to the real world again, where they came for bread, papers, human contact and medical help.

The crewman gave her a sceptical look. ‘Let me help.’

‘Oh, really?’ she asked, smiling gratefully.

He shrugged. ‘I can hardly leave you to do it alone. There must be slavery laws against that sort of thing.’

She grinned. He was young, good-looking . . . Hanna was still engrossed in conversation; it apparently hadn’t crossed her mind to help Bell unload their belongings. ‘Well, thanks,’ she said, giving a wriggle and small jump to hoist the bags higher under her arms again. ‘I’m Bell, by the way.’

‘Per.’

Together they carried the first of the piles to the boat, Bell glancing over every few strides to check on the children; they were sitting slumped on a low wall, looking very bored.

Nymphea was thankfully moored close by, in her usual berth at the near end of the jetty. The chandlery yard had serviced her and put her back in the water in time for the summer. Bell dropped her pile carefully on the ground, but Per was a few steps ahead of her and had hopped onto the deck before she could even pull in the bowline. He held out his hands for the first consignment.