I feel my pulse racing quicker and I try to ignore it to focus on the reporter’s words. ‘Clearly the whole island is in shock,’ she says.

I look back at the ticker tape reeling its breaking news; the words ‘… Island last night’ roll out of sight to the left and a new headline about Syria follows.

‘And the police aren’t able to release any more details as yet?’ This comes from a woman in the studio, but the screen is still filled with the view of my house and garden, panning out further still and exposing a white police tent that is flanked by officers. It has been erected on the right at the rear of the property, tucked neatly in between the house and the trees that separate the garden from the woods beyond.

‘Not yet, but the forensics teams have been working here all day,’ the reporter says.

I look back at the tape. ‘Body found on Evergreen Island last night,’ it now reads in full. I scrunch my hands up tightly, willing the blood to rush through them and stop the numbness from spreading up my arms.

A body has been found on the island. And even though no one has said it outright, it’s clear it’s been buried in the garden of my old house.

Chapter Two

I watch with morbid curiosity as the news filters through in sharp pieces: the current owners were building an extension to the side of the house; excavations ran deeper and wider than expected; last night one of the builders noticed a bone that turned out to be a hand and in turn there was the rest of a body.

The reporter tells us it was a shocking discovery for both the builder and the owners. Around the back of the white tent, she points to the exact spot the body was found. My eyes are wide as I take in every detail, my hands clawing the fabric of my jumper. To anyone who doesn’t know the island it looks like it’s right in our old back garden, but to me, an islander, I can now see it’s actually just outside, at the point where the garden merges into the woods.

But the thing with Evergreen is that most of the houses don’t have fences separating private land from that around it. Where we lived, in the Quay House that sits just back from the jetty, we only did on one side – the white picket fence – because it was the only one completely exposed to the public paths. Every other side was lined with trees, but it means the boundaries were blurred. And it means you’d be forgiven for thinking the body was dug up from the garden and it’s already clear this is the way they’re spinning it.