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that flows constantly from the higher ground. Here in the hollow, small trees flourish away from the scour of the wind and salt. From the top of the Devil’s Seat it looks like a deep gash in the landscape, filled with lush green in the summer, and in the winter a brown tangle of twigs and twisted branches.
    The harbour is bigger than it looks when approached from the sea, stretching around into a narrow estuary, the mouth of the only river on the island. There is a jetty and a boathouse and above that three stone cottages – the harbour dwellings, where Jonathan and Daniel live, and a smokehouse. At the end of the jetty is a wooden board that Jonathan painted that says, Welcome to New Canaan , in big letters. There is no sign of anyone, which is surprising, as usually there are folk waiting when the boat comes in. No lights in the cottages, no smoke rising from the smokehouse. They must all be away at the farmhouse, which is over the ridge and on the other side of the hollow, on the flat plateau of fields we call Moriah.
    Terry ties the boat to the small wooden jetty, but the tide is low so we have to pull ourselves up on to it, which is difficult because I’m still dizzy from the seasickness. Alex climbs up next to me and immediately lies down on her belly.
    ‘Rebekah, come on!’ Father hands me a box. ‘Quickly.’
    Terry wants us to unload fast because he wants to get going straight back to the mainland in the window of the tide.
    ‘Where is everyone?’ They should have known we were coming. I thought Father spoke to Bevins yesterday.
    ‘I don’t know.’ He puts his hands on his hips and scans the shoreline. ‘We haven’t got time to worry about that now.’
    Together we unload. Terry and Father pass boxes to me and Hannah and we lift them up on to the jetty. Some of them are really heavy and my arms are wrenched in their sockets, lifting the tubs of sugar and flour. Alex lies in our way until I kick her.
    ‘Ow.’ She sits up.
    ‘You’re in the way,’ I say. I feel sick too, but this is no time to be indulgent. I dump a heavy box of tinned fruit at her feet.
    ‘I feel dizzy.’
    ‘So do I,’ I say, glaring at her.
    So anxious is Terry to get back home that the moment the last box has been unloaded and Father has leaped out of the boat, he casts off and sets out for the open sea again. Now everything has to be carried along the rickety jetty to the boathouses, box by box.
    Alex stands up and looks at the pile. ‘Where’s my bag?’ she asks, her voice rising.
    I look at the stuff; there’s no sign of her duffel bag. I don’t remember seeing it when we unloaded.
    ‘The green one?’ Father says. ‘I thought that was Terry’s.’
    We all look to the boat, which is already navigating the gap in the rocks into the Hag’s Cauldron, lifted up by the sea like a cork. Too late.
    ‘NO!’ Blood rushes back to her face. ‘That’s all my stuff!’
    She runs to the end of the jetty and waves her arms. ‘Come back!’ She looks ready to throw herself in and swim after the boat. She waves frantically, but it’s too far away now. ‘NO!’ When she turns to us there are tears in her eyes. ‘That was all my stuff!’
    ‘Oh well,’ Father says, a bit too nonchalant. I wonder if he’s done this on purpose. When people come to New Canaan they are expected to leave their old world behind. ‘You can borrow some clothes from Rebekah. We’ll get Terry to bring it back with the next boat.’
    ‘When will that be?’
    Father shrugs. ‘A couple of months.’
    ‘A couple of months ?’ Alex bites her lip as if she has just realized something very serious. She looks as if she might want to kill us. Instead she walks off the jetty and sits on some rocks next to the boathouse. When I walk past her, carrying heavy boxes, I can see her face is wet and red from crying. It’s not my fault. If she’d helped us she might have noticed that her bag was missing. I fight a sudden surge of irritation. Why did she have