They have reached the top of the stairs, and Leah moves towards the bedroom door, but Hilary stops. Where the banister had once wrapped around the stairwell, there is now a piece of plywood nailed into place. Seeing it there, it all comes flooding back: the moment he fell. One second he was firmly clasped against her and the next she was twisting free, her face turning just in time to catch the look in his eyes – that mute stare. She cannot remember any sound coming from him, no shout or cry, just an expression of sheer surprise and the movement of air, followed by that terrible thud. She leans over the plywood now and looks down, as if she can once more glimpse those open eyes staring up at her, the light of recognition dwindling from them. A vertiginous view.

It is too much. She takes a step back, turns away quickly.

Leah is inside the bedroom and Hilary goes to join her, not wanting to be alone on the landing with its memories, its ghosts. The bed is gone, as are the wardrobe and the dressing-table. All that remains is the carpet, faded and marked in places with deep grooves and indentations where the heavy furniture once stood.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Leah says. ‘Why did you come back here that day? What made you come? I mean, how did you even get in?’

Hilary smiles. ‘I know where the key is hidden, remember?’ She goes to the window, looks out across the road to her own house. How small it looks from here. Small but safe.

‘For a long time,’ she tells Leah, ‘I thought I was in love with Anton. I did love him, in fact, very deeply, and I thought that he loved me. It broke my heart when I found out otherwise. I came back here that day because I thought … Oh, I don’t know what I thought – that I could have it out with him. Demand to know how he could have used me in that way. And, if I’m honest, deep down I still hoped he felt something for me.’

‘But did you know … did you believe he’d killed his wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you still loved him?’