‘I’m guessing the storm has made it impossible for them to get here,’ Faith says, stretching her arms above her head once more, before getting up, and making her way over to the rest of them. ‘But I’m sure we’ll be fine, if we stay together in the bar until the tide goes out tomorrow.’

Christine nods and looks at her watch. ‘It’s gone three. Only another few hours before daylight.’

‘What was it like here when you were a nanny?’ Faith asks Lori, after a long silence. ‘What were the children like?’

The woman looks agitated by the question. ‘Let’s just say they had a difficult upbringing.’ She rises to her feet. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, I desperately need the loo.’ She grabs her handbag, and goes to make her way across the bar.

‘Christ’s sake,’ Leon whispers, dragging his fingers through his hair.

Lori flashes a look over her shoulder. ‘I heard that, Leon.’ But she continues on her way.

‘You really shouldn’t go alone,’ he calls after her.

Lori swings round. ‘You’re right. What am I thinking? But you can’t all hold my hand. Christine, will you come with me?’

‘Of course.’ Christine jumps to her feet. ‘I could do with going too, if I’m honest.’

‘That’s incredibly kind,’ Lori says, with a smile, as Christine catches her up.

‘But what if one of you is the killer?’ Alice’s eyes move from one to the other, as they stop and turn, looking awkward.

‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Christine says, her face a mask of indignation. ‘I’m no killer.’

‘Well, I’m not saying it is you, Christine, but we have to keep an open mind here. Two people are dead.’

‘There’s a ladies’ room in reception,’ Christine says. ‘Let’s all go together. That way we’ll be safe.’

Alice feels her body wobble as she stands up. Everything’s so bizarre. A party of five are about to trot to the loo together, for fear of being bumped off one by one by an invisible killer stalking a Gothic hotel on an island in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t make it up. How the hell had it come to this? A bubble of hysteria rises inside her, and as Leon takes her hand, she begins to laugh. Loud. Hysterically.

‘Alice?’ Leon says. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘What’s up with me?’ she cries. ‘What’s up with me?’ Her laughter turns to tears, as she bends over, holding her stomach, bile rising in her throat. ‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Once she’s sure she’s not going to be sick, she straightens. ‘We’re all going to be murdered aren’t we? Whoever’s doing this is going to pick us off one by one. Kill us all.’