‘My land,’ she said. ‘This is different. I’m as lost here as you are.’
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Mr O’Connell. ‘Please take care of the fire and I’ll see what I can do—if the ladies will forgive me.’ He unbuttoned his shirt, watching Matilda and I in case we objected. We did not.
Samir sat watching the fire, sleepily mesmerised, and Patrick continued to build it higher as his father waded into the mud, gathering a few stout sticks of his own and carrying his shirt in his other hand.
He reached the clearer water and moved still more carefully, testing each step until he reached a flat-headed stone still marked by our passage. Climbing onto it, he surveyed the river, visibly choosing his next destination. Half-crouched and shaky, he stepped from the boulder onto a smaller stone, and the
