‘Mark,’ she says, her voice fluttering with nerves. ‘You probably don’t remember me …’

‘I remember you.’

There’s harshness in his tone. The look he gives her is cold and assessing, layers of meaning within it. Her insides curdle beneath the weight of his stare.

‘I didn’t know you were here. It’s been so many years since –’

But he is already moving past her, hurrying away, as if he can’t escape the place fast enough. Her eyes go back to the house and she sees that the front door remains open. Quickly now, without giving it thought, she runs up the steps and inside, closing the door behind her.

It takes a moment for her to reorient herself to the gloom after the bright sunlight of the street. She leans against the door, breathing heavily. This is the house where her life had changed. The house where Charlotte died. The house where Anton killed her.

Blood rushes through her veins – she can hear the thrum of it in her head. Beyond the workings of her heart, she listens for noises in the house. The creak of woodwork expanding in the heat of a summer’s day. The call of birdsong through an open window at the back of the house. But apart from that, it is silent. The house feels empty.

Hilary takes a step forward into the hall, calls hesitantly: ‘Hello?’

Another step towards the staircase.

‘Anton?’

His name echoes around the hall. She puts a hand to the banister and looks up, feeling uncertain, trying to locate within her some courage. A noise overhead points to his presence, making her bold. She moves up the stairs quickly, her resolve recovered by the time she reaches the return. On the last step, the bedroom door opens, and there he is, a tray in his hands. He sees her and his mouth opens, but no words come out, his face registering astonishment, and something else – a flash of confusion, perhaps.

Her heart, which had been fluttering wildly, now grows still.

‘I couldn’t wait any longer,’ she tells him. ‘Why didn’t you reach out to me? Why didn’t you come?’

26

Anton

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, as the frown on her face softens, her eyes lighting with a new intensity.

‘I couldn’t wait any longer,’ she tells him. She reaches out and touches his arm. He looks down and sees her hand clasped around his wrist. ‘Anton, I had to come.’

Briefly, he wonders how she got in. His thoughts are frustrated and confused. They keep bending towards Leah, and the way she wouldn’t look at him as she was leaving – the way her eyes refused to be drawn to his, as if she was embarrassed or ashamed.