Things crawl all around us, poppy things that crunch if you walk on the sand. They’re probably edible if you could catch them, and if you had a cooking pot.And a fire.And some salt and pepper.And water.We huddle together in our wetsuits, listening for footsteps and feeling hungry. We’ve eaten sea-cabbage flowers, sorrel leaves and the end of a piece of bread that some picnickers left on the beach. Apart from a tap for washing sand from wetsuits, we haven’t found any water, and I’m not sure we should have drunk from it but bad water seems preferable to no water. My stomach rumbles for the millionth time. I’m thinking about chocolate bars. I can’t help it; they keep coming into my head. I’ve had a particularly strong sense of Swiss chocolate bunnies, the ones wrapped in gold paper. Ned can’t bear them, he says it’s like eating happiness, so I always save him from that by eating his too. “What would you really like to eat just now?” I blurt out.“Spaghetti con vongole,”
