Summer

The face of the world was changing. The browns of Mana Island, the endless blue—when did these things arrive? It was as if someone had let more light in.

He sits on his towel and digs a hole in the sand to plant his feet in. Sylvia lies on her stomach, adjusts her bikini every half hour. Bea and Mr Flood sit under the DB sun umbrella. They play blackjack and smoke.

It's a rare, windless day and the sun's at its flying height. Further out through the salty haze, the sand bank is rising. He can feel his pale skin absorbing the sun, his whole body reddening, as if under a grill.