‘You want my brother to go to prison so the police don’t come looking for you,’ I say.

Bob prods his thick fingers against his chest. ‘I didn’t kill her. I didn’t run away,’ he sneers, his eyes roaming over my face as he presses closer again. I inch my way around him, desperate for him to get out of my face. Whatever I’d come here for, I no longer want to hear. Whatever Bob tells me, I need to go to the police with what I know.

‘Who made the decision to up and leave in the middle of a storm?’ he says.

I flinch as a drop of his spit lands on my lip, and I push back further until I’m almost in the doorway to the hall. ‘I don’t believe you. My dad could never—’

‘No,’ Bob laughs. ‘No. I don’t actually think your dad could.’

My hand grips the door frame and I use it to steady myself. I don’t want to hear what you’re telling me, Bob. The words scream inside my head but they don’t come out.

‘Not the answers you came here for?’ he is saying. ‘What a shame. You were so keen to find out what happened.’

‘You can make anything up because my parents can’t defend themselves.’ I stumble backwards, feeling for the front door behind me. I want to hold my hands over my ears, sing loudly, do anything to stop his lies.

‘Thing about this place is that secrets can stay hidden for a very long time.’

I reach down for my coat and when I straighten up he is right beside me. I’m surprised at his sudden agility. He moves quickly for such a big man.

‘You really want the truth?’ Bob says.

No. I really don’t think I do any more. I turn the door knob, opening the door as a rush of cold air slaps me, and I stumble outside.

‘Your mother killed Iona,’ he says as I start scrambling up the driveway. ‘And I’m the one who’s been keeping her secret all these years.

‘You can run but you can’t go far,’ he calls after me. ‘You know there’s no way off this island tonight.’

I reach the top of the path, falling against a tree. A rise of nausea swells inside me, making me retch over my shoes and my already sodden jeans. Rainwater smears my vomit into streaks and stings my eyes, but none of these things matter any more. None of it matters.

Evergreen Island

8 September 1993