We stretch out on the choir pews behind the altar. Liam brings out the blankets and I lie down, my head pillowed on my hands, wrapped up in one of them. I’m guessing it must be past midnight.

Liam stays sitting upright beside me, rigid, gripping his knife in his hand. He hasn’t said much more about my theory that the killer is on the island and that he’s stalking us, but I know he’s thinking about it.

‘With any luck he’ll think we’ve left,’ Liam mutters now, and I can hear how hard he’s trying to convince himself. I’m trying too, but I keep remembering the silhouette of the man standing above me on the landing, gun resting on his shoulder, the room filled with strips of meat and the NO TRESPASSERS sign written in blood.

Liam switches off the torch and I lie still, my hip aching from the hard bench, wondering how I’ll ever fall asleep, with the cold and the wind howling, and with the knowledge of what is outside, hunting us.

I do sleep though. I must still be so exhausted from the swim, and from all that adrenaline coursing through my body, that I pass out.

When I wake up, watery sunlight is filtering through the stained-glass window above me, painting rainbows of colour onto the stone floor. I’m stiff as a board, aching all over, and there’s a gnawing hunger in my belly. I glance at Liam, still sitting in the pew beside mine. He is staring up at the third panel in the stained-glass window: the Resurrection. With a blanket wrapped around his shoulders he looks like a supplicant monk from medieval times.

‘Did you sleep?’ I ask him, scrambling to a sitting position and stretching out my aching limbs.

He shakes his head. ‘I wanted to stand guard, in case.’

He’s been awake all night. He looks exhausted, frayed around the edges; his eyes are sunken and days of beard growth are darkening his cheeks.

‘You were talking in your sleep,’ he says, glancing my way.

‘I was?’ I say, surprised. ‘I didn’t have a nightmare, I don’t think.’

‘You were mumbling “Help”,’ Liam clarifies.

‘I must have been dreaming about falling in the loch,’ I say, rubbing my face to try and wake up. Or maybe I was dreaming about being stuck on the island.

I reach for a wine bottle of water and take a sip. Feeling Liam’s eyes on me I turn. He’s staring at me with a strange look on his face.

‘What is it?’ I ask him.