Bram wrapped his arms so tightly around my shoulders, I had no choice but to submit. The enthusiasm of his embrace took me off guard. After a moment’s stiff hesitation, I relaxed. I hadn’t realised just how much I’d missed him. This was how I imagined a reunion with family might feel – the warm sense of belonging, of rediscovering an old identity you thought you’d lost.

‘You haven’t changed either,’ I said.

Bram lifted a hand nervously to his thinning scalp. ‘You’re being kind. I’m surprised you even recognised me without the hair.’

‘Of course I did. Although I must admit the beard’s a bit of a shock.’

He grinned, rubbing his hand along his jaw. His once-chipped bottom tooth was now whole. He must have had it capped during the intervening years. I wondered what other changes time had wrought in the people and places I’d once known. I knew Bram’s mother, Carlijn, had died a few years ago and that his father had nursed her through her final days in their Texel home, rather than travelling back and forth to a mainland hospice. I wondered if Tomas Lange’s old dive shop was still around and whether the fishing boats from the mainland still sailed into the harbour every Friday afternoon, ready to compete with the locals for the weekend catch. I thought about our old teenage haunts – the local milk bar, the camping grounds in Volharding, the beachcomber’s museum housed inside an old shipping container. Did they still exist or had they been sacrificed in the name of progress?

Bram took my arm and steered me towards two other men waiting on the marina. ‘The others are so excited to see you. You remember Sem?’

Bram’s older brother pulled me into a one-armed hug. ‘Feine! How the hell are you?’ He wore a black T-shirt embroidered with an image of an anthropomorphic olive and the words ‘Lange Brothers Pizza’ stitched in purple letters. As he kissed my cheek, I inhaled the fragrant scent of garlic and rosemary infused in his clothing.

‘Sem’s our unofficial photographer,’ Bram explained. ‘He took the photos I sent you, as well as some video footage of the wreck. I’ll show you later, if you’re interested. And this is Nico, in charge of safety and navigation. If you ever find yourself lost in deep water, Nico is your man. He’ll get you home safe.’

I guessed Nico was in his early thirties. He towered over the others. I had to crane my neck to look up at him. When I did, I discovered a friendly, tanned face and a pair of deep-set brown eyes.

‘So, you’re Jo Baaker. The famous Australian journalist.’

‘Historian,’ I corrected.

‘Bram says you used to dive together. Do you still?’