Ellis lumbers away from the counter, towards the side door and out.

These people seem safe. I can’t pinpoint why – maybe in the same way any regular floating scrap seems safe when one is lost at sea. ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I wouldn’t be able to get something to eat somewhere, would I?’

‘Ellis can whip something up for you.’

Ellis shrugs. ‘I m-make good eggs.’

The woman lowers her elbows on to the desk and holds her head in her hands. ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’

‘Mona.’

She extends a lithe hand to shake. ‘Sylvia. I help with Seasonal affairs, accommodation and assignments and such, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing a bit of each other.’

‘Sure,’ I say. Behind me, Ellis is already at my four-door. I thank her again and go.

Ellis and I pile into my car, him from the passenger’s side, and I’m struck by a pang of embarrassment when he sees the mess of wrappers strewn across the seat – mints, mainly, and gum, to keep me awake, but also a few from some oatmeal cream pies I’d picked up at a gas station in Pennsylvania, as well as the half-full family-sized bag of sunflower seeds. I scatter the detritus across the floor in one mighty swipe. ‘You didn’t see this,’ I say, as if re-concealing the man behind the curtain.

‘Wow,’ Ellis says, glancing at the back seat. ‘You have a lot of bags.’

‘Where are we headed?’

‘Just up the road. It’s b-barely a five m-m-m-m – gah. Short drive.’ He glances back at his mom, who’s still watching from inside the stand with a sort of warlike intensity.

‘Cool. Thank you for doing this.’

‘It’s OK.’

I look to him and he’s sullen, kind of, but there’s a boyish good nature about it. I’m not even sure what he’s actually upset about. ‘I’m Mona,’ I say.

‘I heard.’

‘You’re Ellis.’

‘Correct.’

‘Are you all right?’ I throw the car in gear and we inch out of the parking lot.

‘Fine. Do you know where you’re g-going?’

Yes. ‘Sort of.’

‘It’s left up here. It’s really easy to get the hang of since the whole island is b-basically one b-b-big road.’ Ellis tells me more things I already know. The main road is called Sycamore and it connects the entire southern half of Sandown, the back of a millipede. If the island is a body then these are its tree-lined veins. ‘There’s a strip that connects the main part to the b-back and our place is just past it.’

‘That’s kind of nice for you guys, right? Out of the way of the main tourist stuff.’

‘Yeah, it’s pretty quiet. Not much back there b-besides the woods and some cabins.’