I take a deep breath, shifting in the armchair. Maybe it’s time to leave, but while I’m here I might as well ask: ‘Who still lives here that I might remember?’

‘Probably most of them.’ She is so quiet I can barely hear her. ‘Not many leave.’

I shuffle uncomfortably, thinking it’s no surprise Meg’s worried about her mother; the woman is clearly a nervous wreck. ‘Annie Webb?’

Emma arches her eyebrows, her mouth twisting into a faint smirk. ‘Of course Annie’s still here.’

‘And the Smyth twins?’ I ask, trying to keep the conversation light, grappling for names while I pluck up the courage to ask after the only one I really want.

Emma shakes her head. ‘No. They were some of the few who went. Years back. Their cousin, Freya Little, is here again, though. She’s a journalist. Snooping around, asking too many questions like this is all far too exciting.’

I nod. ‘I’ve already met her.’

‘Yes, well, don’t tell her anything,’ Emma mutters. ‘You can’t trust her.’

‘I’ve got nothing to tell her,’ I say as she suddenly leaps off the sofa and brushes past me to get to the window. She raps her knuckles against it and I turn to see whose attention she’s trying to get, but whoever it is has already gone.

‘I have to go.’ Already she’s edging towards the door.

‘But—’

‘There’s someone I need to speak to.’ With Emma opening the door, I have no choice but to get up and leave.

‘I wanted to ask about Jill,’ I say, as she steps out after me. She hurries down the path to the gate and it doesn’t look like she’s heard me. ‘Is Jill still here?’ I say, more loudly.

Emma stops and looks over her shoulder. Her mouth opens as her eyes dance over me. She seems to be looking right through me and it’s such an eerie stare that I find myself shrinking back, the hairs on my arms pricking cold.

With a vague shake of her head she eventually turns and begins scurrying up the lane. ‘Emma?’ I call, though she doesn’t answer as she rushes to the man waiting for her at the end of the lane.

I watch them talking and, when Emma gestures behind her, the man looks at me. There is something familiar about him but I can’t place him. Emma continues to talk, gesturing nervously in the air, and I watch as the man’s face pales. He doesn’t take his eyes off me but at the same time he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Evergreen Island

13 July 1993