‘I spent my life around a bully,’ he goes on. ‘Watched my mother put up with it for years. Always wished she’d leave him, but she never did.’

My lungs refuse to fill. I feel as if I’m being held underwater, but then suddenly I’m bursting to the surface and drawing in air. I take in a ragged breath.

‘You had bruises,’ he says, gesturing to my neck.

I remember I was wearing a scarf in the pub. I’d started taking it off but noticed he was looking at me funny and kept it on, reminded that the scarf was hiding the bruises on my neck that Liam had put there a few nights before. My hand flies to my neck and an echo of a shudder runs through me as I remember Liam kissing the five bruises in the shape of his fingers. They’re still there.

‘I wish I’d had the courage to stand up to my father before it was too late and he did what he did,’ the man says to me now.

I don’t react. I’m so used to keeping a blank face – or trying to, at least. But then I remind myself that I don’t have to fake anything any more. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, letting emotion transform my face. It feels as if a dam breaks. All the tension I’ve been holding on to starts to crumble and I let out a choked sound.

‘You OK?’ he asks, taking a step closer.

‘I will be now,’ I answer, giving a shaky smile.

‘You going to leave him here?’ he asks, nodding disdainfully at Liam.

I think about how Liam told me that dead criminals in ancient times would be left out in the elements for the animals to eat them. It seems fitting.

‘I’ll tell the police when I get back to the mainland,’ I say. ‘The boatman’s coming in a few hours.’

The man nods. He doesn’t offer to undo the trap around Liam’s leg or move him somewhere sheltered.

‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘How will you get off the island?’

He takes out a small notebook and pencil and scribbles something down. When he’s done, he rips it off and hands it to me. ‘When you get back to the mainland, call this number. It’s my friend Joe. Tell him where I am – my name’s Jamie – and ask him to come and get me.’

I take the piece of paper and put it in my pocket. I still can’t believe that this stranger is going to cover for me when he knows what I’ve done.

‘Thanks,’ he says to me.

I nod.

‘You could stay here if you wanted to,’ I blurt.

He shakes his head, an unhappy look on his face. ‘It’s not my land any more. I don’t own it. My father was in debt. When he died everything had to be sold.’ He exhales loudly. ‘But I still come out here, to tend the graves. It’ll always feel like home.’