Peyton introduces me to a slew of people, all of them returning Seasonals. She explains that Seasonals tend to lump themselves into two categories. Everyone older than twenty-one typically works as a bartender, easy jobs where nights are spent mixing cocktails in outdoor establishments where you walk on sand instead of a floor and get big tips without much effort. Otherwise you’re running tours at the winery. The rest of us – there are nineteen under-twenty-ones in total, including Liam, Peyton and me – usually get stuck cleaning Sylvia’s B and B, or flipping burgers. I meet a pretty girl named Maria, with long buttery hair and a lip ring, who’s friendly enough; the second she’s out of earshot Peyton turns to me and says, ‘She gets to run the butterfly house tours, that floaty blonde bitch.’

Liam is seemingly pleased with his second placement as the boardwalk merry-go-round button pusher – before six at night for children, which isn’t so bad, he says, and then after six at night, for adults acting like children. ‘It’s really not bad, most of the time,’ he says. ‘Boring as hell but at least you’re outside. Rather be doing that than stuck at Mary Anne’s all day, to be honest.’

‘No kidding?’ I ask.

He shrugs. ‘We go to The Island Spot sometimes, hangover breakfasts, mainly, and she’s always, like, mad as hell to see us. Just cranky. Anyway, at least it’s hardly ever busy. Probably gonna be even quieter this year.’

‘What makes you so sure?’ Peyton asks, firelight dancing across her cheeks.

‘All that crazy weather stuff they’re talking about.’

‘Well, today was already hot as the devil’s asshole so I don’t see how it can get much worse.’

‘No,’ Liam says, mid-sip, ‘didn’t you see? Hurricane season. It’s supposed to hit here, apparently. And soon. Rain, all summer.’

‘Ooh, but that’d be fun, though, don’t you think?’ Peyton drapes herself across his shoulders like a ballerina on a bar. ‘Quiet island, rained in, nowhere to go …’

Liam grimaces. ‘Off.’

‘Hey, Mona,’ Peyton says, still hanging from Liam. ‘Do you know about the No-Names?’

‘No. Is that Sandown lore?’

Peyton smirks, a new mischievous air to her tone. ‘Deep lore.’ She shifts forward, like she’s going to tell me a secret. ‘They’re the woods on the north half of the island. They weren’t called anything; we just started calling them the No-Names. Well, we didn’t. Kids before us.’

My heartbeat quickens. ‘Sure.’ I remember the backyard of the Willowwood, staring into the seemingly infinite rows of trees. ‘I’ve seen them, yeah. What about them?’

‘Rumour has it they’re haunted.’

I smile despite myself. ‘Haunted?’

‘Yeah, haunted. Like, oogly-booglies, ooo.’

‘I know what haunted means.’