The ride to Jem’s house passed in a similar fashion, with Jem staring at her breath fogging on the passenger window, and Rosie doing her damnedest to concentrate on the roads. She wanted to ask what was wrong, to offer help or a shoulder to cry on, but she no longer shared Harriet’s conviction that the fire lay behind Jem’s sudden reticence, and she was scared she wouldn’t like the answer if she asked. It seemed to take forever and no time at all before she was turning onto Jem’s street, creeping through the double-parked cars, and pulling into the driveway. Jem unfastened her seat belt as Rosie switched off the engine. She leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her, her hair concealing her face, and Rosie waited, braced as if for a punch.

“I don’t want you to come in,” Jem said, the words dropping like a stone into the silence.

“Jem—” Rosie lowered her hands from the wheel, leaving damp prints on the plastic. She’d seen this coming, but she still didn’t feel prepared, still didn’t know what to say, and every option she came up with—reminding Jem of her promise to Harriet, playing on her physical vulnerability—seemed more underhand than the last. In the end, there was only one question she really wanted the answer to.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

Jem shook her head, splashing tears onto her knees. “No, no, no,” she said quickly, almost chanting the denial. “It’s me. I don’t want this. Any of this, and I should have told you, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.” She grabbed her hospital bag, shoved the car door hard against the wind, and scrambled out onto the driveway. Rain soaked her within seconds, but Rosie could see that she was still crying. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and let the wind slam the door for her.

“Jem? Hang on a minute. Jem?” Rosie grappled for her seat belt, fumbling with its latch and getting the strap tangled as she shoved it out of the way. Jem was on the front step, turning a key, pushing the door with her foot, and she’d gone inside before Rosie could get out of the car. Even from a distance, Rosie heard the jangle of the security chain as it slid into place.

“Fucking hell,” she whispered. She sat back in the car, hoping for a reprieve that wasn’t going to come. A minute ticked by, then another. She waited until her hands had stopped shaking. Then she started the engine and drove away.

* * *