Isis and Cera wander away without so much as a backwards glance. As they head towards the bridge, Leanne trails after them, her arms crossed over her narrow chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Daisy follows them. She pads after Leanne, calling her name.

“Come.” Isaac reaches for my hand.

I take one last look at Daisy as she crosses the bridge, then put my hand in his.

I falter as Isaac opens the door to the hut and inclines his head, indicating that I should go inside. My hand, still in his, feels sticky with perspiration.

“It’s okay.” He opens the door wider so the interior is flooded with light. There’s a pile of rugs on the floor, a small table in one corner and a metal bucket, covered in a towel, in the other corner. I didn’t notice the bucket when Kane gave me my massage. That feels like forever ago now. “I just want to talk to you somewhere that we won’t be disturbed.”

I step inside and press myself up against the wall as Isaac squeezes past me and closes the door. The hut is immediately plunged into darkness.

“It’s okay,” he says again. “I’ll light a candle.”

The white-painted floorboards creak as he crosses the room, then I hear the whirr of a lighter being flicked. The darkness lifts gradually as a tiny flame dances from the end of the lighter to the large, white church candle on the table.

“Sit.” Isaac reaches for something on the table then settles himself on the pile of rugs and pats the space beside him. “Sit down, Emma.”

My knees creak as I lower myself to the floor. Isaac hands me a bottle. There is no label and no seal on the lid. A dark liquid sloshes around inside as I tip the bottle left then right. “What’s in it?”

“Rum. Drink it, it’ll help, take the edge off the shock.”

I unscrew the lid then raise the bottle to my lips and sip. The alcohol stings then warms the back of my throat as I swallow. I take another sip and another and another. When I put the bottle back down, it’s half-empty.

“Joint?” His eyes don’t leave my face as he hands me a lit joint.

My thumb brushes his as I take it, but I barely register the sensation. All I can feel is the sharp tang of rum in the back of my throat. I raise the joint to my lips and inhale. I take another swig of rum. Suck on the joint. Repeat.

The candle flickers on the table and shadows dance on the white wooden walls of the hut. I lean back and close my eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

His whisper fills the hut. The low tones wrap around me like a blanket.

“Emma? How are you feeling?”

I reach into myself for an answer, but there’s nothing there.

“Emma?”