The sea glinted through the trees, growing ever bluer as they ambled, pushing away branches from their heads until eventually they were at the shore again. They were looking east, having crossed the width of the island; Krokso was visible beyond the body of water, and behind that, Sandhamn – her only point of contact with the outside world. It seemed hard to believe that over there ferries were arriving and departing, taking people back to the capital, selling newspapers, boasting wifi, serving porn star martinis and beers, having sex on boats . . . It felt like a whole other world, not a mere ten-minute boat ride away, and she felt a sudden, fierce pang of longing for the carefree summer that was going on without her. She hadn’t even had a chance to contact Tove and the others yet and apprise them of her changed circumstances.

They carried on walking in silence, Linus’s anger growing as he beat a stick against the tree trunks and kicked out at nodding flowers. The landmass curved away, bearing right. They had only been walking for fifteen minutes or thereabouts, but they were facing the lagoon again now. They stopped on the rocks and watched a man dive from the prow of his boat, which had dropped anchor in front of Dead Man’s Bones. They could hear the splash clearly across the water, watching as he surfaced and tossed his head back with a joyous shout. But it wasn’t him Linus was watching. Behind the boat lay Summer Isle and, somewhere on it, his family.

‘Fancy a swim?’ she asked him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.

He shook his head fiercely. ‘. . . No.’

He moved off again and continued stepping over the smooth, humped grey rocks with angry, silent, gigantic strides. The ground was generally flattish with various dips and rises, but there was a steeper slope on the lagoon side, taking them high enough to get something of an aerial perspective. She stopped to take in the view, but Linus sank to his haunches on the warm rock once again and looked back towards Summer Isle, like an old lost dog trying to get home.

It broke her heart to see it.

‘Wow!’ she breathed, trying to engage some interest. At this height, maybe seventy feet up, they were above the canopy of most of the trees. The roof of the orange house could be clearly seen from up here, and the clearing for the garden was like a dimple. The shape of the island was just about discernible as well – it was a ragged, almost rectangular sheet of land, with numerous nips and pleats, tucks and inlets, like a rag that had been burned. She calculated the perimeter had to be about a mile and a half, maybe two miles long. Positively gargantuan! She pivoted on the spot, taking it all in, her –

‘. . . Linus, come look at this.’

Her tone was enough to stir Linus from his resentful reverie. ‘What is it?’