Hanna slid open the door, having ‘aired’ the place on a weekend in May with Max, checking for any over-winter repairs that needed seeing to and stocking up the larder with non-perishables. ‘Home sweet home,’ she sighed, stepping in with a curious gaze before beginning to slide back the rest of the walls.

Bell picked up the bags for one last time and lumbered them into the house. With all the doors opened on three sides, the breeze blew happily through the cabin, carrying in the sharp briny tang of the sea, dragonflies darting in curiously, the hiss of the tide sinking into the sand, the girls’ chattering voices . . . Outside became inside here; it was all one.

Linus went straight to his room, Hanna’s eyes following him as she let the taps run for a moment. She looked tired.

Bell took the girls’ bags to their bedroom and immediately began unpacking their clothes. They were so tiny that even to the power of two, they took up no space at all. She opened the window in there and shook the duvets, plumping and turning over the pillows, checking for spiders or anything else that might cause a fit of hysteria.

‘Need any help unpacking?’ she asked, popping her head in through Linus’s door.

He was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His bed was made up with a red-and-blue-starred bed set, a dark-blue blanket draped artfully across the bottom. There was a fake-fur beanbag by the sliding window that looked back into the trees, the neon print of a dinosaur on the wall – several years too young for him now – and a striped hooded towel poncho hung from a hook on the back of the door.

‘Linus?’

He startled. ‘Huh?’

She frowned. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘Tired?’ The ferry journey – at two hours long – was surprisingly wearing in the wind and sun.

He gave a shrug that was supposed to be nonchalant but wasn’t. ‘Maybe.’

She watched him for another moment, seeing how he stared at the ceiling with a studied intensity. She walked over, sinking down with a ‘whoosh’ into the jumbo beanbag. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m just bored, I guess.’

‘We only just got here!’ she laughed.

He was growing fast now – those jeans that had fit him at Christmas were already too short at the ankle – and his mood often seemed more sullen and reluctant.

Bell dropped her head back on the bag and turned it slightly, looking out into the forest. Some of the larger islands had rabbits and foxes, even deer; the best they had had was a grouse scuttling through the undergrowth. They lay in easy silence, both staring at nothing, listening to everything: Hanna opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen, the sound of bottles and jars being set down on the counter, the suckering of the fridge door. Bell knew she ought to get up and help. This, lying on a beanbag, couldn’t technically be classified as ‘working’.