‘Here it is,’ he shouts, and I follow him to where there is the smallest of clearings amid heavy overgrowth of bushes and grass. ‘This was our den,’ he says. ‘It hasn’t aged well.’

He wanders on a bit, turns and heads a little uphill. He seems lost in thought as he walks around. I wonder what memories are playing through his head.

I stay where I am and look around the small space, try to imagine it as it was. Look up at the sky, still heavy with dark clouds. The water’s edge is visible from here and I can’t help but stare.

‘Careful, Ingrid,’ Niall says, his breath warm in my ear.

For a moment I think about leaning back onto him, feeling his body against mine.

‘You don’t want to slip. Bad things can happen here if you slip,’ he whispers as his hands press down heavily, uncomfortably, on my shoulders.

His breathing becomes heavier and my blood runs cold as his grasp tightens further.

Chapter Forty-Six

Declan

‘Is that you, son?’ Declan hears his mother as he opens the door and walks in, immediately hit by a wave of heat and the smell of baking.

‘It is, Ma,’ he calls back, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the bottom of the bannister.

His mother will give out to him about leaving his coat there, but he’ll deal with that in his own way. He knows he can sweet talk her. He has always been able to do that.

‘Did you smell these scones baking or what?’ she calls, laughing. ‘I’ll stick the kettle on.’

‘I just need to look for something upstairs,’ he replies. ‘I shouldn’t be long.’

He climbs the stairs, goes straight to the room he used to share with his brother. The large mahogany wardrobe is still here, now storing clothes his mother won’t wear again but can’t bear to throw away. Her ‘fancy clothes’, she calls them. Outfits she’s worn to weddings, dances, celebrations. Her own wedding dress is folded in tissue paper in a box on a high shelf. Beside it, shoeboxes are filled with photos, memorabilia, old school reports, newspaper cuttings.

Declan starts to pull each box down and open them, quickly discarding those that don’t contain what he’s looking for. He hears his mother on the stairs and soon she’s by his side.

‘What on earth are you doing? I hope you’re going to clean all that up after yourself!’

‘I’m looking for something,’ he tells her, tearing open the lid of another shoebox, only to find it filled with old birthday cards.

He’s getting frustrated now. He can feel it well up inside him.

‘Well, what are you looking for? Maybe I can help you find it before you wreck this house of mine altogether!’