‘I wish you hadn’t dealt with that alone.’ Working together like this, under pressure, had somehow made it easier to talk. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t hear what you were trying to tell me.’

He shrugged. ‘If anyone’s apologizing, it should be me,’ said Toby. ‘I shouldn’t have brought up what happened to Branston. I’m not very kind when I’m drunk. But I genuinely assumed you’d have worked through it in therapy.’

‘I should have done. I will.’

‘What I’m saying is you didn’t need to block it out.’ Toby sloshed back across the floor for another box. ‘You were a kid, a distressed kid, and Bran was fine, remember? He recovered and he lived like a king until he was, what, two hundred in dog years? He forgave everyone. He loved us.’

Tara stopped. Her back was protesting. ‘It’s not as easy to forgive myself.’

‘But you’re not responsible for everyone else’s mistakes. You did what you did because Mum and Dad were messing everyone’s lives up. Do you want me to give you permission to move on, Tara? You can let go of protecting Mum and hating Dad, and get on with living your own life. For yourself.’

They stood in the strange softly lit basement, surrounded by boxes and wine bottles, candles and water, and the years peeled back, leaving them looking at the sibling they remembered. Tara couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such an honest conversation with Toby.

He was saying the things the voice in her head had whispered over the years, a voice she’d done her best to ignore. Her conscience – or the ghost of that old intuition they used to share?

‘Mum left the house to me,’ she confessed. It felt more hurtful to tell him like this than by flinging it at him like a thunderbolt, as she’d almost done in the heat of their row. ‘I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you but I just couldn’t. I can’t afford to buy you out, so it’s going on the market.’

‘What? No! She left it up to you to decide what to do?’ Toby laughed. ‘That’s very, very poor parenting.’

‘But the house is worth—’

‘Tara, I don’t want half the house. I’d rather you kept the cash and did something crazy with it.’ He’d started moving across to get the final boxes. ‘What would I spend it on? Fast cars and holidays? I get paid to do that already. You earned it. Buy yourself some time.’

She knew he couldn’t mean that. He was just being flamboyant.

Like she’d always wanted to be, but never felt confident enough.

Toby turned. ‘You deserve it,’ he said. ‘You deserve to start living. I’m happy to help you with that.’