The other side of the mountain, everything had changed. A digger had ploughed a road through the choked rubble. Fridge-freezers, cars, whole trees, the entire contents of people’s houses were piled high either side. The school was the only building that remained standing. On the flat roof was Michael Lynott’s red fishing boat. I stepped out of the car and walked through the wet rubble, to the harbour. There were huge black flies everywhere. I swiped my hands in front of my face to get through them. And I looked down at the flat water, at the things floating there.