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corner of the houses and onto the steps.
      “Do you think there’ll be a storm?”
      Conor shakes his head. “No. The barometer’s fall en since this morning, but it’s steady now. It’l be a blow, that’s all .”
      We jump down onto the sand. The cottages and studios are built in a line, right on the edge of the beach. The ground-floor windows have big storm shutters that were hinged back when we first arrived, but now they are shut and barred. Some of the shutters are already half buried in sand that was swept up in the storms we had around the equinox, in late September.
      Sand could easily bury these houses. Imagine waking up one morning and finding the room dark because sand has blown right up to the top of your windows. Or maybe it wouldn’t be sand at all , but water. You could be looking at the inside of the waves breaking on the other side of the glass. And then the glass would break under the pressure, and the sea would rush in.
      “I wonder how the sea always knows just how far to come, and no farther,” I say to Conor. “It’s so huge and powerful, and it rol s in over so many miles. But it stops at the same point every tide.”
      “Not quite at the same point. Every tide’s different.”
      “I know that. But the sea doesn’t ever decide to rol a mile inland. And it could if it wanted, couldn’t it? With all the power that’s in the sea, why does it stop here when it could swallow up the whole town?”
      “Like Noah’s flood.”
      “What?”
      “You remember. God sent a flood to drown the whole world and everything in it because people were so evil. But Noah built his ark, and he survived. And when the flood was over, God promised he’d never do it again.”
      “Do you believe in God, Conor?”
      “I don’t know. I tried praying once, but it didn’t work.”
      “What did you pray about?” But I already know. Conor would have prayed for Dad to come back. I know, because I did the same. I prayed night after night for Dad to come back, after he disappeared. But he never did.
      “You know, Saph.”  
      “Yeah. Me too.”
      “Did you pray as well ?”
      “Yes. Every night for a long time.”
      “But nothing happened.”
      “No.”
      “You know what the story says that the rainbow is? The Noah story, I mean.”
      “No.”
      “It’s a sign that there’ll never be another flood like the one that drowned the world.”
      “Hey, Con, I forgot to tell  you. I met a girl called Rainbow.” But Conor isn’t listening. He’s shading his eyes and staring into the distance, out to sea. At first I think he’s looking for surfers, but then he grabs my arm. “There! Over there by the rock! Did you see her?”
      “Who? Rainbow?” I ask, like an idiot.
      “Elvira,” he says, as if that’s the obvious, only answer. As if the one person anyone could be looking for would be Elvira.
      He never talked about her. Never even said her name.
      But she must have been in his mind all the time, since the last time he spoke to her. That was just after Roger and his dive buddy Gray were almost kill ed when they were diving at the Bawns.
      I remember how Conor and Elvira talked to each other, once we’d got Roger and Gray safely into the boat. Conor was in the boat, leaning over the side, and Elvira was in the water. They looked as if there wasn’t anyone else in the world. So intent on each other. And then Elvira sank back into the water and vanished, and we took the boat back to land.
      “I can’t see Elvira,” I say. “I can’t see anything.”
      “There. Fol ow where I’m pointing. Not there— there .
      No, you’re too late. She’s gone.”
      “Are you sure, though, Conor? Was it really Elvira?”
      “It was her. I know it was her.”
      “It could have been part of a rock.”
      “It wasn’t a rock. It was her.”
      “Or maybe a surfer—”
      “Saph, believe me, it was Elvira. I couldn’t mistake her