I broke off, letting the idea sink in. It’s always a risk, negotiating with teenagers. After a moment, Anneke smiled and I experienced a dizzying rush of triumph.

‘Okay,’ she said.

Lowering her pack to the ground, she heaved herself back up onto the windowsill and appeared in the open doorway a minute later. Thanking her, I picked up her bag and held it out. It was heavier than I thought; the strap slipped from my grasp. There was a crash as beer cans spilled from the bag’s open neck and rolled away in every direction. Anneke swore and scrambled after them. I tried to help, but she snatched up the cans before I could touch them. Shoving them roughly back into the bag, she stood up to face me, her expression defiant.

‘I guess it’s too early for spirits,’ I joked.

She didn’t laugh.

‘Just so you know,’ I said, ‘I can keep a secret. I’m famous for it, in fact. And I grew up on this island. I remember how boring it can be. I’m planning to stick around for a while. Your dad says you’re good at sewing. I am, too. I could show you some things, if you want, some techniques I’ve learned over the years. Or we could just talk.’

‘Why would I want to talk to you?’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t even know you.’

I watched her stride away from me up the service road, turning at the hairpin bend at the top of the slope and disappearing around a stationary tractor. She was probably sneaking off to drink beer with some friends. I felt a pang of guilt; I should get in touch with Nico and tell him what was going on. But it wasn’t really my business and I didn’t want to make things worse between them.

Full power had been restored to the clubhouse. The downlights in the foyer glowed and the fridge hummed loudly, its door slightly ajar. I nudged it closed, after observing the rows of beer cans stacked on the shelves and noting the empty space at the bottom of the pyramid left by Anneke’s sticky fingers.

The dress was spread out across the makeshift worktable, the sleeves folded carefully like the wings of a paper crane. I was struck again by its eerie beauty. This dress was a time-traveller. It had lain at the bottom of the ocean for years, possibly centuries, communing with the creatures of the deep, waiting for Bram and his friends to come along and rescue it and bring it up into the light. Possibilities whispered to me like myriad voices inside a seashell. Had its owner been the daughter of a Dutch merchant? Or a lady-in-waiting, employed by royalty? I tried to picture her again but she stayed stubbornly in the shadows, refusing to oblige me.