The township of Emmadorp was even smaller than it had looked on the map. It was just a tiny strip of shops encompassing a service station, a café and grocery store, backing onto flat grassy fields filled with cows and sheep. The car’s GPS struggled to pin down Johann de Witte’s precise address and, when I picked up my phone to check Google Maps, I realised I didn’t have any service. That probably explained why Liam hadn’t called me back. I parked and went inside the café to ask for directions. The interior was decorated with vintage cuckoo clocks and peeling posters from the 1960s, advertising holidays in exotic destinations. A lady with dark hair appeared between two salon doors which swung inwards, like the ones in old-fashioned cowboy movies. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for this address,’ I said.

She squinted at the piece of paper in my hand.

‘Sure, I know it. Mr de Witte is quite the collector,’ she said. ‘His family go way back. He lives in a farmhouse just a few minutes from here. He donated a lot of the vintage decor. Some of the pieces are quite valuable, but he always refuses to take any money for them. I’ll write the directions down for you.’

She disappeared into the back room and returned holding a pen.

‘Do you get many visitors here?’ I said, looking around at the empty tables.

She shook her head. ‘Not since they built the motorway. Things used to be better. People would drive out from the city on the weekends to go hiking in the nature reserve in Saeftinghe. It’s over that ridge,’ she said, pointing through the window at a green hillock rising in the distance.

Cold shock ran through me. I’d been so fixated on finding Johann that I’d failed to notice how close Emmadorp was to where my parents had died. I didn’t really want to ask the woman for details, but I couldn’t stop. It was like watching myself from a distance. All those years I’d avoided visiting and now, without even realising it, I’d found my way here.

‘Do you remember a couple who drowned in the reserve?’ I said. ‘It would have been twenty years ago now.’

The woman looked grave. ‘Oh yes. That poor couple. There’ve been no drowning cases since, but a few near misses. Tourists often don’t realise how fast the water rises once the tide comes in. The council put up warning signs everywhere after it happened. There’s a plaque, too, dedicated to the couple who passed away. A gentleman from up north arranged it. Came out once to see it for himself and stopped in here for lunch. He was a nice man. Said he worked in a seal sanctuary, told me to come say hi if I ever went up that way for a holiday.’