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be damned if everyone would see him coming in to the wharf like that.
     
    “Well done,” said Cyrus. “See, I knew you could do it.”
     
    Will glared at him.
     
    Cyrus pulled in to a concrete boat ramp about a hundred yards from the main jetty. Will jumped out as soon as the water looked knee deep. He couldn’t care less about his trousers, he just wanted out.
     
    “Here,” said Cyrus, throwing him the painter. Instinct kicked in, and as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, Will caught the painter and ran it around a sapling growing next to the boat ramp, putting in a bowline to hold the dinghy fast, while Cyrus shipped the oars and grabbed the backpack from the bow. Cyrus hopped out, straight onto the concrete ramp, as the boat bobbed in the deeper water to the side.
     
    Hands shaking, only partly with cold, Will headed off along the wide pine-needle covered path that led to the side of a large white wooden building, bare feet tender on the occasional stone. He didn’t wait to see if Cyrus was following.
     

Chapter Four
     
    The store was a strange mix of grocery store, cafe, and thrift shop. The long jetty finished right at the main entrance, and the incessant hammer of a compressor drifted down from the end of the wharf, where a battered metal sign from a petrol company stood watch over the small flock of boaties arriving and departing. The vault-like ceiling and wooden floorboards doubled noise back on itself. At the back two deep wooden counters guarded shelves of dry goods.
     
    A tall shape blocked their way. “Hey,” said Parker.
     
    “Fuck,” said Will.
     
    “It’s good to see you,” said Parker. “I mean, really good. I actually come down to, ah, place flyers.” He waved a handful of paper vaguely in the direction of the counter.
     
    The dark-haired woman poked her head around Parker’s side. “I did tell him not to do it. Because . . . “
     
    “Because I might die from sheer embarrassment?” said Will, grabbing a flyer from Parker and staring at his own face on it. It was one of the photos from their last holiday together. He could see where Parker had cropped his own head out.
     
    “What’s going on?” asked Cyrus.
     

     
    Will flipped his hand back and forth between them. “Cyrus, Parker. Parker, Cyrus. I’d introduce the lady, but I have no idea of her name, despite the fact my boyfriend’s fucking her.”
     
    “Your boyfriend?” Cyrus and Parker both spoke at the same time.
     
    “It was a week, Parker,” Will hissed. “One fucking week. I thought you were . . . impetuous. Angry. Pissed off. Yes, I fucking thought you were still my boyfriend.”
     
    “Gentlemen, please lower your voices.” The speaker was a much older man, with white hair and a deep mosaic of wrinkles across his face, and a black armband around his checked flannel shirt. Behind his thick glasses pale blue eyes assessed Will. “This is a family place.” He gestured to a flock of tiny kids buying bags of candy.
     
    “So, Mr. Bennett, this is your absconded guest, hmmm? Not so lost after all, it seems.” He looked down at Will in a conspiratorial manner. “He rang last night, quite distraught. Was all for putting together a search party and setting out to scour the island for you.”
     
    He chuckled to himself. “I told him, no need for that. It’s not that big an island. I knew you’d fall on your feet, all right. And look, so you did: breakfast with Mr. Keller. Isn’t that nice? I can see you need to get to know one another. You’ll soon be one big happy family.”
     
    Cyrus’s lips were pressed together in a thin line.
     
    The dark-haired woman stuck her hand out to Will. “Will, I’m Sina. I’m sorry about last night.”
     
    Will stood looking at her until she lowered her hand.
     
    “Fine.” She took a breath. “Let’s sit, all right? Will, we have to arrange to get your bag back to you, at least.”
     
    For a minute Will considered abandoning his bag, walking out