When we got to the cemetery I played up my confusion, said I couldn’t remember where Danny was buried. I knew three of us searching for one small grave would draw attention—they had no choice but to leave me alone. I didn’t know how many days I’d been in the caravan exactly. It was only when I stood in front of his grave that I counted the number of times I’d watched the sun rise and fall out of the grimy window and worked out the date: June 6th. The day Danny died, Mum’s birthday. I knew the twins were watching, so I mouthed a silent “happy birthday” to her in the pouring rain as I dug up the wet earth at the foot of Danny’s grave. I lifted out the blue box I knew I’d find there. I only had to peek inside to know it was enough. It had to be enough. Even in the dull light the brightness of the diamond rings, the gold watch, and necklaces stung my eyes, so I shut it again and put the box in the pocket of Robbie’s coat, just like he told me to. I wanted them to see me do exactly as they said. I know what they’re capable of now. I’ve survived so much for so long. I have to survive them.

22

Jon

Robbie uses the flashlight on his phone to light the path in front of him, which is good—it means I can keep a good few paces behind and not risk losing him. The light glimmers through even the thickest gorse bush. I walk as carefully as I can, mindful of loose rocks and lifted roots. In the distance, the huge yellow eye of the lighthouse winks. My heart beats hard in my chest, like a third set of footsteps. I think only about the next step and the one after that. I don’t let myself think what he’d do if he found me following. After half a mile or so the path opens out into a small grass clearing, the sea growling like a guard dog on my left. Robbie shines the flashlight ahead of him, between two dense bushes. It doesn’t look like a path, but he wraps his coat around him to protect against the sharp thorns before he dives between the bushes. There was a path here once. Again I force myself to wait, count to twenty before I follow. The thorns tear at my raincoat like long nails, trying to pull me back. I freeze, but ahead I see Robbie’s light flickering, moving forward and up; he didn’t hear. Temporarily reassured, I push forward. The overgrown path opens a little, like it’s been used a few times recently; some of the brambles look freshly broken. Without warning, the path gets steeper, and at times I have to use my hands and claw the ground for balance. The sea, behind me now, sighs and moans and the lighthouse keeps up its rhythmic beat; like a strobe light it catches time in pulses. From afar there was comfort in it but now it makes everything too strange. Up ahead I see there’s a shadow, darker than the others, and as I battle my way towards it I think it’s a huge rock, but when I get closer I realize it’s too uniform, too big, to be a rock. It’s a rectangle, a small caravan, dark and almost choked by brambles. It’s clear no one’s had a holiday here in years.