‘Right. No.’ God, I had no idea my family knew so much about my crap life. How naïve of me, in retrospect, to believe I’d kept it to myself. All I’d kept were the dark spaces. And not even all of those. And people talk, whatever you might think. Imo to Ned. Helena to Imo. My parents to Helena. I watched Dad tip a few more tiny black seeds into the palm of his hand and sprinkle them again, in a line. Beside him were a row of bulbs already planted in pots for later in the year: dahlias. My father was eighty-six. How did he know he’d even see them come up in the autumn? How did he imagine he’d see any proper growth in the chestnut sapling he’d found broken off by the wind, and was carefully dipping into root hormone powder to stimulate it, before planting in a terracotta pot? He didn’t. He was doing it because that was what he’d always done, and what was expected of him. He was doing it for future generations, and he was doing it for love. That was why we all kept buggering on. I’d also imagined I might tackle the subject of the cottage with him, but then I realized I wouldn’t. Some things were best left unsaid. Instead, I got up from my chair, and went to refill the heavy galvanized watering can from the tap in the yard, which I knew he found a struggle to carry back when it was full. I delivered it to him, then disappeared inside to make some egg mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch.

A few days went by. And still no sign of the police. I began to wonder if Helena was right, and they’d just been trying to frighten me. The weekend approached, and within a twinkling, I found myself arriving at Josh’s house for lunch. Well, my house. I’d actually been sitting round the corner for fifteen minutes until I’d deemed myself fashionably late, but not overdoing it. It occurred to me, as I waited, that Melissa, back from Silicon Valley, would be horrified if she knew I was here and hadn’t popped in. But although I was making myself carry on, I also knew I wasn’t up to that. Melissa knew a lot about me, but not everything. The advantage of seeing Josh was that, despite having met me so recently, he knew what was consuming me. There was an odd sort of relaxation in that. Of course, it wouldn’t be mentioned. But it was there, unspoken, in the room. I didn’t have to pretend it wasn’t.