I eye the pamphlet. ‘Sorry, I must’ve got my days mixed up. Was hoping it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.’

The boy’s mouth is opening and shutting like a fish’s blub, searching for something to say, when a woman emerges from the back door – same tawny hair and the same skin, pale and red-rimmed instead of tanned. She’s wearing a T-shirt underneath a pair of loose olive green overalls and is pretty enough that she wouldn’t look out of place in a lifestyle magazine. In a sort of classical way, too: face like a painting, high cheekbones and soft curves set off by a hard stoicism. Looks young to have a fifteen-year-old. Barely crow’s feet. There’s something familiar about her when she locks eyes with me. ‘What’s the ruckus?’

The boy and I both go to speak at the same time but I let him explain. ‘She’s a Seasonal. She w-wanted t-t-to check in.’

‘Registration’s not for another day,’ the woman says to me with a sort of thoughtful, floaty inflection.

This riles the boy up again. ‘I t-told her –’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘He did tell me. I’m sorry – I think I got the dates wrong. I hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Well,’ the woman starts, ‘it’s not, really, it’s just that the rooms still need to be cleaned.’

‘I’m totally happy to wait,’ I say. ‘Or I can do it myself.’

The woman wrings a rag through her hands, inspecting me. ‘You look tired, sweetie.’

I shift, uncomfortable that she’s noticed, that I look like anything at all. ‘Oh, no, I’m fine.’ My eye’s about to twitch. I blink hard.

‘You’re welcome to wait, then, but today’s gonna be a cooker and I don’t wanna leave you out in the heat. We’re just helping out here at the moment but we run a little B and B on the island, rest of the time. How about I take you back there and you can lie down in one of the rooms, huh?’

The unbridled kindness of the offer rattles me and I don’t know what to say. I shake my head, suddenly feeling a bit stupid, worried they can sense it.

‘I’ll show her,’ the boy says.

‘No,’ his mom says, ‘Ellis, you don’t need to be –’

He grabs a jingly set of keys out from under the desk and pockets them. ‘It’s fine.’

I’m about to protest – I’d really rather start mapping out the island physically – but the promise of a bed has made me very aware of the heaviness of my body and maybe I am actually tired. My eyes seem to regress further in my head and my stomach churns sickly with nausea and hunger. I’m far from home. ‘OK. That’s – really nice of you. Thank you.’