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Reckons there’s a ghost.’ I’m not sure I’m giving a good view of the old sailmaker here. Suddenly I remember the twinkle in his eye, the way he sort of grins through his beard. He looks as shaggy as his dog but surely he can’t be off with the fairies. This time Dev turns to face me. ‘So he seems okay?’
    â€˜Yeah, I guess.’ I wonder what Dev is thinking. ‘You reckon he might be losing it? Out there by himself?’ But that twinkle in his eye looked like he knew things, things he wasn’t telling yet.
    â€˜Not necessarily – some people just have different habits. Doesn’t mean they’re off their rocker.’
    â€˜He reckons the island’s made of chocolate too. Melting away.’
    Dev grins out to sea, gives a chuckle. ‘Does he now? Never heard it put like that before.’
    â€˜We got told about it at school too. It’s the only sand island in South Australia.’
    Dev glances at me. I’m getting to know things he’s thinking. Right now he’s thinking, Is that so?
    It feels good telling Dev something new. Then he tells me something.
    â€˜There’s a working bee next Saturday on the island. Everyone who can is going to help.’
    â€˜Sandbagging? Hasn’t that been tried before? One bad storm and it all disappears again.’
    â€˜Better than that – a groyne wall.’
    I’ve never heard of that and I let my face show him.
    â€˜Like mattresses, mate – two-tonne bags filled with sand. They’ll support that wall they tried to make there last year. The detention gang already started some of it.’
    And I’m thinking maybe we can all go, Mei and me, and keep an eye out for the sailmaker’s ghost.
    Just then I feel a nudge on my line, then the tug. I pull the rod up hard to set the hook, then I start winding it in as fast as I can so I don’t lose the fish under some ledge down there. Careful, I pump and wind and soon I can see the glint of silver under the water. Yes , it’s a whiting! Big enough to keep too. Dev’s working his line now. We end up with a whole bagful between us.

8
    During the week something else happens to disturb the peace. I’ve managed to patch up my sandcastle life after Nancy’s visit. Built the sand up round the edges. After Dev and I went fishing on the weekend I’m keener than ever for him to stay and I put a few more shells on the side to make me feel better. Then Zoe turns up. I can see the tide coming in high and fast.
    She’s got a week off from uni even before our Easter holidays start. And she’s got more time after. Gran always keeps a room for her, all made up in case she comes. She’s done that since Zoe made contact with Gran last year. Sounds like an extraterrestrial life form. Believe me, it felt like it at the time.
    Dev sleeps in the restored kitchen out the back. It’s separate from the house and he likes it because he can come and go without bothering Gran. Grandad had started restoring it before he died but Dev finished it over Christmas. Painted it with heritage whitewash that Gran bought. He’s done a cool job – old utensils hanging on the wall, one of those scythe things too and a picture of an ancient Harley. He even has his own fireplace, though we haven’t tried that out yet. I often sit out there with him after tea and we chew the fat, as Grandad used to say.
    Zoe breezes in, saying how well Gran looks. She does too, when you think about it: her hair seems darker, she wears lipstick more often, not so many shapeless tracksuits. Funny, even Shawn’s noticed that. ‘See, Bilious, now Dev’s come your gran hasn’t got the strain of you by herself. She can have a life now.’ Where does he get his crap ideas? Am I that bad to live with?
    Zoe’s okay, I guess, but she’s unsettling. There’s that word again. She’s my biological mum. I always think I should