I slip away before Graham arrives and am about to turn left in the direction of the lakes when a shriek from the clifftop stops me. Emma is climbing the far steps, but between her and me stands another figure, precariously close to the edge. As Emma’s torchlight flashes towards us it’s Meg who is caught in its beam.

‘Get back,’ Emma shouts at her daughter as I simultaneously call out her name. Meg’s head snaps to me and then to her mother who is slowly approaching her. She takes a step away, ignoring me as she storms towards her mum.

‘What are you doing?’ Meg is shouting.

Emma reaches the clifftop. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘Yes, you are, I saw you down there with him. I’m not stupid,’ Meg screams, slamming her palms against her mum’s chest. Emma stumbles backwards with shock as I race forwards.

‘Meg.’ I catch her arm, spinning her around. Her skin is streaked with tracks of tears amid the dampness of the rain.

‘She’s seeing a married man!’ she cries. ‘Graham Carlton of all people! You make me sick,’ Meg sobs, twisting back to Emma who is lingering behind, seemingly unsure what to do. ‘Look at her,’ she says. ‘She can’t even deny it.’

‘I was finishing it.’ Emma stumbles over her words.

‘You’re lying!’ Meg screeches, sobs catching in her throat. ‘I’ve been watching you both.’

‘I don’t – I’m going to finish it,’ Emma says weakly. She reaches for her daughter who leaps back.

I hold out my hand to steady her. ‘Meg, I know you’re upset, but don’t you think you should both go home,’ I suggest. ‘Talk about this together. I’m sure your mum—’

‘My mum knows exactly what she’s got herself into but she can’t stay away,’ Meg cries. ‘For the last six months she’s been slinking around the island, pretending nothing’s happening between them. She tried denying it, but I know her. It’s not hard to see she’s dolling herself up for someone, giggling like a stupid schoolgirl whenever she sees him lingering around the village in that revolting hat of his.’

‘Meg, it’s normal to feel like this—’ I begin.

‘You asked after him when he came into the café,’ she goes on, blindly ignoring another protest from her mum to stop talking. ‘He fled pretty quickly when he saw you, didn’t he? He recognised you—’

‘Meg, stop!’ her mum begs.

‘Why?’ Meg laughs. ‘Why shouldn’t I tell her?’

‘We’re going home,’ Emma says, her voice shaking and not in the least authoritative as she fumbles for her daughter’s arm.

‘My mum isn’t the first, Stella,’ Meg sneers as Emma attempts to tug her away. ‘She found out the other night he was seeing the girl who was buried in your garden.’

‘Iona?’