‘And that’s just it. You can’t. But you told me upstairs you always believed it was my mum. Now Danny thinks he did it and—’ I break off, waving my arm in the air as tears fill my eyes.

There are two possibilities, neither of which bear thinking about, and I’m left suspended between them with no idea what I’d prefer the truth to be.

I take another sip of sherry and sink on to the sofa, closing my eyes as I picture myself opposite me in my counselling room.

What would you prefer? I ask. That your mum was a killer, or your brother?

It’s a trick question. There’s no good outcome. It’s like the story of the mother we discussed in training who had two sons and one murdered the other.

What did she do again? I ask.

In the end she stood by the son who’d killed the other because he was all she had left.

‘True story,’ I say aloud.

‘Sorry?’ Annie asks. ‘Stella, are you okay?’

My eyes snap open. ‘I know you’re worried about what might happen to you, Annie, but regardless, we need to go to the police.’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m too old to be worrying about myself any more.’

I lean forward, even though it feels like an effort to do so. ‘I need to get off the island, Annie.’ The thought of being trapped here is suffocating. I can almost see an imaginary clock sucking the time away, just like the air around me. I flap the neck of the fleece I’m wearing, wondering if Annie feels as hot as I do.

‘I don’t see any way you could possibly do that. Who knows you’re here?’ She takes a slow sip of her drink, peering steadily over the rim of her glass.

‘No one. I didn’t even tell Bonnie.’

I take another sip myself, resting my head back as the room sways softly out of focus.

‘Oh, God. Bonnie,’ I groan. I had almost forgotten my sister. Everything she’s feared will slot together and make her realise she was right to feel the way she always did – that she has never belonged.

Bonnie must have been taken from her real mother at such a young age. I know the impact that can have; I have clients with adopted children who have attachment disorder. Triggers are set in place before we can even imagine.

Bonnie was obsessed that Mum was always trying to fix her with those sessions – maybe Mum was trying to prevent something from happening even if she didn’t know what.

‘Stella?’ Annie’s voice stirs me but it’s an effort to lift my head. ‘You obviously need to rest.’ She pulls a blanket over my legs, rubbing a hand against my shin. ‘Lie down.’

‘No.’ I force myself upright. ‘I have to find a way to get back.’