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.

‘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.