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place.’
    She recognised the expression on his face. It was a taut mixture of conciliation, impatience and anxiety, and she often saw it when her father looked at her. Thinking about the hidden diary she felt defiance harden within her. Somebody’s drowning shouldn’t be wrapped up and hidden, just in case it might spoil someone else’s holiday. A person took shape in her mind, a girl, with her skin mottled by sea water and her clothes streaming with it. The momentary vision was real enough for May to see her pale features.
    Holding her discovery to herself, May felt the secret settle in place like an invisible shield.
    The diary was lying in the darkness, waiting for her to read it. Finding it in its secret hiding-place drew her into a conspiracy with Doone: Doone must have something to tell her that shouldn’t be shared with anyone else. ‘The place is okay,’ she said tonelessly. ‘Why wouldn’t I like it?’
    John’s face relaxed. This was better them he had hoped. ‘Good. We’re going to have a good time. These people seem friendly.’
    ‘Are we going, then?’ Ivy sighed.
    The Duhanes walked down their own driveway, passed Elizabeth Newton’s mailbox and doubled back between the overgrown trees and bushes that lined the way to the Beams’ house. They skirted the tennis court and various cars drawn up on a gravel sweep, and climbed the porch steps to knock on the back door. There was plenty of time before anyone answered it for them to survey the sagging chairs, heaps of shells and discarded shoes that lined the unswept boards. John and Ivy exchanged questioning glances.
    At length the screen door was tugged open by a man none of them had seen before. But it did seem that they were expected.
    ‘Hi, I’m Tom. Come on in, we’re all out the front.’
    The glimpse of the house confirmed their first impressions.
    It was huge and chaotic. Open doors revealed chairs piled with children’s toys and floors patterned with sandy footprints. At the beach, Marian favoured freedom and space for self-expression over domestic order.
    The houses had been built so that they turned their backs on the land and the lane leading away to Pittsharbor. The wide porches and front windows faced the curve of beach, the island and the open sea beyond, and they were separated from the edge of the bluff by their gardens. Elizabeth Newton’s and the Bennisons’ gardens were cultivated, but the other three were not much more than sandy spaces stitched with seagrass. Tonight, the porch and the decks at Marian Beam’s house appeared to be crowded with people. Lucas and his two younger brothers and two of their friends from Pittsharbor were playing frisbee between the deck and the bluff, with Gail looking on.
    Ivy stepped forward, smiling, knowing that she would be welcomed. May hung back, disabled by shyness.
    Marian surged forward to greet the Duhanes. Once they had been processed by her, John and Ivy were drawn straight into the party. May edged around the group and positioned herself where she could watch Lucas covertly and survey everyone else. After a minute’s quiet observation she saw that, apart from the four Beam siblings and their friends, the crowd was only made up of five Beam adults, Elizabeth Newton and an elderly couple May had not seen before.
    Marian was introducing the old people to John. ‘This is Aaron and Hannah Fennymore. Your neighbours from the opposite end of the beach, John.’
    The woman was about the same age as Elizabeth Newton, but she looked completely different. She had none of Elizabeth’s stately bearing or gracious manner. Hannah Fennymore was small and bent-backed, dressed in layers of nondescript brown and grey clothes as if the evening were cold instead of soft and mild. She was sharp-eyed and inquisitive-looking, rather like a small busy bird.
    The man, her husband, must once have been tall and imposing. He was bent now, too, and a stick lay on the floor beside his chair. He had white hair,