‘All I had to do when I moved in here was make it habitable and then keep the lore alive. I needed to make sure that my sister and I were protected, especially when I had to leave the lighthouse for one reason or another. I needed the security of knowing that no one would dare to come here, so I began to add to the lore. I had to steal livestock and grain to feed us, and…’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry if this is a bit gruesome, but I carried around a little jam jar filled with animal blood. Whenever I took a sheep or a pig, I left splatters of blood on the walls of the pens and the stables, so it looked like something violent and horrific had occurred.

‘I’d sometimes even leave warnings written in a scruffy hand, pinned to doors or fences, or handwritten on the walls with blood. I needed to make sure that I found a balance between taking enough to scare them, but not taking too much. I didn’t want to push them or encourage a revolt or an attack or something similarly devastating.

‘My sister and I began to build a little life here. As she grew more confident and surer of herself, she would go out some of the evenings to collect food.’

‘By “collect”, you mean steal, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes … but we rarely had other options. We don’t have an income; neither of us can get work without being discovered. She wanted to help and she couldn’t stand being without purpose. We took it in turns – one of us would cook and build up the fires and the other would go out foraging and scavenging.’

‘How did you get hold of food?’

Jem shrugged. ‘I’m sure my sister had her own methods. I, for one, would break into places like the bakery or the butcher’s, especially when we’d already taken too many animals. It was easy. I got really good at lockpicking. I crept in, took what we needed, and left again. Late at night, when we returned, we’d share a hot cocoa and talk for a while, or we’d just sit and stare at the fire.’ Jem swallowed and his voice had become deep and husky with repressed emotion. He rubbed his eyes and, with a sharp exhale, he stood.

Lily remembered all of the evenings she and Alice had sat staring into the flames, clutching warm drinks in a comfortable silence. Her throat closed up, the fist of grief closing around her neck.

‘Speaking of hot cocoa, would you like one? I feel like I should at least offer you some sweet relief while you listen to me ramble.’

Lily smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘What was her name? Your sister.’

‘Grace. It always made me smile as she’s the least graceful person I’ve ever known; she’s all muscle and strength. She’s about as graceful as you were, trying to row that bloody boat in the middle of a storm.’ He grinned and then turned away in pursuit of the warm drinks he’d promised.