‘I’m sorry,’ I say, stumbling backwards. ‘And about the boat too. It capsized. I’ll pay you whatever it takes to replace it.’ I risk a look in his eyes. He’s scrutinising me with a hard stare, and I flush to the roots of my hair. He looks at Liam’s body. He knows I’m lying. He knows this was no accident.

He turns back to look at me. ‘No matter,’ he says.

My heart skips a beat. I blink at him not daring to breathe. But he says nothing more. He’s waiting for me to talk.

‘You’re a McKay, aren’t you?’ I blurt.

He frowns at me, taken aback, but I can see that I’m right.

‘It’s your mother and brother, Elliot, who are buried on the island, isn’t it?’ I ask, jerking my head in the direction of the churchyard.

‘How do you know that?’ he asks, gruffly, frowning at me.

‘I saw the flowers on the grave earlier.’

I noticed them when we returned to the chapel after we stole the gun. A bouquet of thistles and autumn leaves filling the vase that had been toppled over just the day before. That’s when I figured out who the fourth person on the island was. Liam was too focused on his foot to notice them, thank god. I saw the flowers and thought about the No Trespassers sign and suddenly it all made sense. The gravestone said ‘beloved brother’. It wasn’t Andrew McKay on the island. It was his son. His other son. It was the only thing that made sense.

‘I’m sorry for what happened to them.’ My nerves are electrified. I feel as if I’m walking on a tightrope over shark-infested waters.

He nods to himself. ‘Aye. Well, I’m sorry for what happened to him,’ he says, nodding at Liam but keeping his eyes fixed on me. I know that he’s searching my face for some reaction to his death. I should look anguished, upset, grieving, in shock. And I’m not displaying any of those emotions. I’m giving myself away with my total lack of feeling.

‘You’ve got blood on your sleeve,’ the man comments, nodding at my arm.

I look down and notice the dark stain on the white cuff of my sweater. There’s a circle of dark bruises too, a bracelet of them running around my wrist, Liam’s parting gift to me. I tug the sleeve down, hoping he hasn’t noticed, but when I look up at him, it’s clear he has.

‘My father was a sick bastard too,’ he says.

The breath catches in my chest. I lock eyes with him. A long moment passes.

‘I saw the way he was with you in the pub,’ he finally says. ‘From the moment you walked in I could see you were afraid, though you were hiding it well.’

I am stunned at his words. I thought I was a consummate actress. That I was hiding my fear from the world.