‘There was a photo of him in the pages of her diary.’ Faith rubs her head; blood trickles down her forehead. ‘It took months to find him. I wanted revenge. He abandoned my mother, abandoned me – he was my father too.’

‘He had no idea of this.’

Faith shrugs. ‘I know. He was shocked when I told him. But he abandoned my mother when she was at her most vulnerable.’

Alice is sluggish, her ankle throbs in pain, she can do no more than listen to their exchange of words.

‘Poland’s a beautiful country.’ Faith lowers her head. ‘Mother loved it there. For a short while.’ She closes her eyes. ‘I told Mikolaj I was his daughter, that my mother died because of him. He said my mother was deranged – a stalker.’

‘He told me who you are – that you wanted him to come to Flynn House. That when he refused, you pretend to accept this, make him drink—’

‘How do you know? I left him to die. There is no antidote for poison hemlock.’

‘Nie. This is true. When I arrive to see him in agony. But still he tell me about you. What you do.’

Faith’s move is sudden. She lunges towards Gabriela, attempts to grab the knife.

It all happens so fast. Gabriela’s reaction is whippet-quick – she plunges the knife into Faith’s chest.

Alice’s chest tightens as she watches her once friend – her cousin – fall to the floor. She reaches for her hand, her own arm heavy, thinking of the child Faith had once been – a little girl called Tiger who visited the attic room when Alice needed a friend most. She hears a struggle for breath and then nothing. Faith is gone.

Leon

Leon’s heart thumps as he takes the final stairs to the attic room.

He’s left Lori with Christine.

He staggers into the room, taking shaky breaths, eyes wide, bewildered, as he falls to the floor, pulling Alice to him.

He blinks rapidly, his gaze roaming his surroundings. Faith is lifeless, blood saturating her dungarees, a knife in her chest; Gabriela stands, arms rigid by her sides – frozen, pale. Two ventriloquist puppets look macabre, awaiting a tea party that will never happen. The walls are muddy brown, the carpet grass green.

‘There’s a rowing boat in the shed,’ Leon says after a silence that stretched and stretched, his voice shaking. ‘We need to get to the mainland.’

‘Faith thought I was her best friend,’ Alice says, her face expressionless, her voice slurring. ‘She wanted me to stay.’

Alice

The boat bobs on the salty sea, churning Alice’s stomach. She feels sick. Her brain is foggy from whatever Faith put in the cake, her mind a scrambled mess. She blinks, trying to focus on the sun rising on the horizon; its rays glinting on the water, dancing with the joy of a new day.

They are halfway to Dunwold. They are halfway from Seafield Island.