During school holidays, Zara stayed with her grandfather beside Cape Brindle lighthouse. Every evening, the lamp flashed twice, paused, then flashed once more. Grandad explained that every lighthouse had its own pattern, so sailors could tell which headland they were passing in the dark.

On the third night, a storm erased the horizon. Rain struck the windows, and the lighthouse beam suddenly went black. A minute later, Zara noticed a fishing boat's light rocking beyond the reef. The backup generator had failed, and the repair crew was still twenty minutes away.

Zara grabbed the powerful torch from the emergency cupboard. Standing safely inside the lantern room, she aimed it through the glass: two flashes, a pause, one flash. Again. Two, pause, one. Grandad joined her with a second torch. Together they repeated Cape Brindle's pattern until the main lamp blazed back to life.

The next morning, the harbourmaster radioed. The fishing crew had recognised the code and steered away from the reef. Zara had not made the brightest light on the coast, but she had made the right one.