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embarrassed. “Really,” she began. “We really don’t need—”
    “Don’t worry about it, Mrs Blakeman. It may well have been the old milk you got, by mistake. It happens sometimes. I’ll ask Donal. He helps us in the evenings and he gets confused these days about what goes where.”
    Kevin came back with a can and put it on the table. He grinned at Colin. “I’ve been trying to persuade your cousin to go up the Yellow Tunnel, but he doesn’t seem too keen. He wants to keep on with his digging.”
    “What’s the Yellow Tunnel?”
    “Well, if you want a good walk, one that’ll tire out that dog of yours, go along the shore, below the bungalow. You could do it this afternoon, it’s low tide. You walk right along the sands as far as Ballimagliesh Strand then you can climb up to the chapel. It’s a ruin really, right on the cliff edge. It’s a proper beauty spot, isn’t it, Mam?”
    “So it is. We used to have picnics there years ago. All the young people went. Beautiful, it is.”
    “But what about this tunnel?”
    “Well, there’s a track up to the ruin, through the grass, a bit steep in places but sure it’s fine in dry weather like this. But you can climb up through a crack in the rocks. It’s great. It brings you out by the chapel walls in the middle of the old graveyard.”
    “Do you need ropes?”
    “Oh no, there are plenty of footholes. But I should take a torch.”
    Colin could see that climbing up a real tunnel might not appeal to Oliver, and anyway, Mum might prefer him not to do it. He was still rather shaky after his illness. Digging a little hidey-hole in your garden was one thing, feeling your way up a great crack gouged out by the waves was quite another. It appealed to Colin, though.
    When they were back at the bungalow he got everybody organized. Prill didn’t need persuading. She cheered up a bit when he told her Mrs O’Malley had reported that their phone was out of order, but she still didn’t want to stay in the house.
    “Well, who wants to, anyway,” Colin said, “on a day like this?”
    They put some food together and installed Alison in a canvas carrier that Colin usually wore on his back like a rucksack. Most days she didn’t care who carried her around but she was being awkward this morning. It had to be Mum.
    Oliver kept on digging till the very last moment, muttering darkly that he didn’t want to go. He had things to do that afternoon which didn’t include the Blakemans.
    “Oh, come on, Olly!” Prill shouted. “We’re wasting the day. It’ll be cooler down by the sea. You could take your sweater off,” she added, unable to resist.
    “I don’t think—” he began.
    “Look, it’s only a bit of a climb up a cliff path. You can walk with Mum if the tunnel’s bothering you. Don’t be so pathetic,” Colin said impatiently.
    That did it. Oliver chucked his spade down, pushed past both of them, and was soon walking with Mrs Blakeman. It was quite peaceful. At least the carrier was keeping that awful baby quiet.

Chapter Six
    A S THEY WALKED along the beach, Oliver was planning his getaway. This was his sly streak coming out. He did have one, and he told lies sometimes to get what he wanted. He’d once listened, through a closed door, to his parents discussing the fact that he was adopted. “Perhaps it’s not our fault,” his father said. “Perhaps it’s just, well, in the blood.”
    “Blood? Rubbish!” his mother had said sharply. “It’s training. He’s our son now and he’ll tell the truth.” That night he’d been made to stay in his room without anything to eat. Mother was very strict with him. Sometimes she seemed to forget he was just a little boy. Mr Catchpole was scared of her too.
    It was a long walk to the Yellow Tunnel. In spite of its name, Ballimagliesh Strand seemed to be miles beyond the village. They could soon see the crumbly yellow cliffs thatgave the crack its name, but it never seemed to get any nearer.
    The dog leaped ahead