Liam ignores me. He’s already rummaging through a backpack, upending the contents onto the bed. Dirty socks and underpants tumble out, as well as a couple of T-shirts and a checked shirt. I step forwards, forgetting my panic for a moment. I pick up the shirt and check the label. It’s a man’s medium size. I notice the boxer shorts too.

Liam opens up a washbag. It holds a cracked mirror, a man’s razor, shaving foam, a toothbrush, toothpaste and a small first aid kit. I heave in a breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs, my head spinning. Who is this man and what’s he doing here?

Liam searches through the clothes, maybe looking for an ID, and I glance over my shoulder again at the door. He could come back any moment and we have no idea what he might do if he finds us here.

My attention is drawn to the map of the island that Liam has pulled out of the man’s bag and tossed on the bed. Maybe he is a treasure hunter after all. I glance around at the camp. It looks temporary: there’s a cardboard box filled with a dozen Pot Noodles and some granola bars. A large gallon bottle of water sits by the fireplace. There’s a pile of rubbish in the corner of the room – empty noodle pots and sweet wrappers, a crushed plastic bottle and several crushed cans of beer. It looks like maybe a week’s worth of supplies in total.

Liam digs into the inside pocket of the man’s backpack and pulls out a pocket radio. Tossing the bag and the radio aside, he pats down the sleeping bag and triumphantly delves inside to pull out a canvas bag that’s been stuffed into it. Rummaging through that, he discovers an empty binocular case. Has he been spying on us from afar? When I felt like I was being spied on the other day in the graveyard, was it him?

‘Please, can we go now?’ I ask as Liam keeps searching through the man’s belongings. I’m bouncing from foot to foot and glancing towards the door. What if he comes back and finds us rooting through his things like thieves?

Liam isn’t going to be hurried, though. He keeps searching as though he’s going to find something to tell us this man’s motive for stalking us.

I start to walk back towards the door, but my gaze is snagged by something in the pile of rubbish. Among the wrappers and packets I’ve noticed a box. I walk over to it.

‘Found something,’ Liam says.

I turn back around. Liam’s flourishing a folded-up piece of newspaper. The paper is yellowed with age, and the ink is smudged from damp. He unfolds it and I come over to see what it is.