There’s a whimper in Tony’s voice and I realize he’s not only afraid of his brother, he’s also afraid of Grace. She has power over him. He knows something about her, about what happened, and it terrifies him. Robbie hears the fear in his brother and, moving forward, he puts his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. Tony rests his forehead on his brother’s shoulder. It looks like a position they know well, one they both seem to find soothing.

Robbie’s voice is calmer as he says, “We just need to find her. Let’s start by looking in town. She won’t talk to anyone and she won’t go to the police, she wants to disappear as much as we want her to disappear. That’s why the plan is going to work. When she’s back we’ll not take our eyes off her for the next few hours. We’ll get her on that truck first thing tomorrow morning and once she’s away, lost somewhere in Europe, we’ll never hear from her again. It’ll be over.”

Tony lifts his head, blinks at his brother like these are the words he wants to believe.

Robbie looks out towards the sea as he says, “She can’t have got far. Let’s go and get the silly bitch.” He turns and is about to start walking when Tony grabs his arm.

“There’s no need to hurt her though, is there, Rob? Please, you don’t have to hurt her.”

But Robbie shrugs his brother’s arm away and, without saying a word, he starts to walk down towards the sea, Tony just behind him. I cower back behind the pile of logs, terrified they’re going to come directly past me. I step back; a branch snaps under my foot. To me it sounds as loud as a gunshot. Robbie stops, but Tony only turns his head slightly. Robbie’s jaw tenses before he says, “Badger,” and they both keep moving.

Robbie leads. He takes a different track from the one we came up just a few minutes earlier. He walks straight ahead from the caravan, crushing the stinging nettles under his boots while Tony trips along behind him, an identical shadow.

I wait until they’re almost out of sight before I start following. This time there is no path. The brothers move quickly, almost running down the steep hill that leads to the sea, trampling the nettles and brambles as though they are soft as lamb’s grass. I remember Simon called them hares. They grew up here, they know this place, and these hills, these secret tracks, as well as they know each other. They are directly on course to hit the light from the lighthouse on its never-ending sweep when suddenly they vanish. Their timing is perfect: the light doesn’t catch them, and I don’t know where they’ve gone. It is absolutely silent, I can’t even hear the sea. Wherever they are, they aren’t moving, or making a sound. Either they’ve gone so far ahead I can’t hear them anymore or they’ve stopped. I feel out of my natural habitat, like a swimmer in unknown waters, soft belly exposed to the sharks circling below. The light from the lighthouse seems to be searching just for me. I shouldn’t be here. With each flash of light I think I see eyes in the bushes, shiny and black as they watch every move I make. My skin prickles and a small voice I didn’t know was part of me, never needed before, whispers in my ear that the game has changed. I’m not the hunter anymore. I’ve become the hunted. I start to run.