He stands over her. In rest, she looks the same. Perhaps paler, skin a little looser, and wearing a nightdress she’d never be seen dead in, but unmistakably Hailey. He crouches down. Kisses her fingertips. Her nails are no longer neatly filed and coated in varnish and stickers. He will ask Amber to come back. Give her a manicure. That might give Hailey a lift; already before he has left he is planning how he can make her feel better.

The clouds have broken and the rain has stopped pouring down. Everywhere looks fresh. A new beginning. The guilt that has burdened him these past few months is dissolving.

Out of the window, the shops flash by, red and pink flowers bunched in buckets outside the florist, wooden crates stacked with rosy apples and vibrant oranges and lemons outside the greengrocer. The colour is coming back into the world in sharp focus. Connor’s mind travels back to the journey to Mr Marshall’s house. How scared and small he felt inside the car boot. He is a different person now. He wishes he could tell Ryan that Mr Marshall has forgiven them, he feels the need to talk. Where could he be? Connor can’t imagine but then he’d never thought Tyler would run away so perhaps he should try not to worry. Stay positive. He wonders when Tyler will be home, when he’ll get in touch. In the meantime, though, there is one person who will listen, who is always around to listen.

Connor leans forward. ‘Can you drop me somewhere?’ He says where and if PC Amin is surprised he doesn’t show it.

‘We really should take you to your house, your parents—’

‘You’ve left them messages. I thought you said Mum hadn’t been at home when you arrived and Dad had left?’ Connor talks quickly. Convincingly. ‘I won’t be long, I promise, and then I’ll head straight home. They’ll need time to calm down anyway.’

The officers exchange a look.

‘Please.’

There isn’t a direct acquiescence but PC Amin indicates left instead of right and Connor knows they are going to the church.

Connor has been coming here since as long as he can remember, but still it is always a surprise to him that once he steps through the black wrought iron gates that thunder doesn’t rumble, lightning doesn’t clap. That everything inside the cemetery is exactly as it is on the outside of the fence. The sun still shines. People smile. Talk. Walk their dogs. It’s wrong somehow. Everything about her being here is wrong.

Still.

Always.

He settles himself cross-legged in front of her headstone. Absently pulls grass before letting it fall from his fingers.