The question feels pointed, and Leah hesitates before answering: ‘I love him, Mum.’

She senses her mother absorbing this careful response.

‘I’m happy for you, sweetheart,’ she tells Leah, and the words are quietly warm and heartfelt. ‘Does he make you feel safe?’

‘He does.’

When I’m with him, the demons go away, she thinks. But she doesn’t say this to her mother. Doesn’t want to frighten her.

‘We love you, Leah – Dad and me. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘All we want is for you to be happy. For you to find peace.’

‘I know. I’m trying to.’

They talk for a few minutes more, and while it is companionable and pleasant, neither suggests a visit. Neither mentions meeting up.

‘Take care, sweetheart,’ her mother tells her, just like she always does.

For a few minutes after the call ends, Leah sits still with her eyes closed, turning her face up to the sun.

Later that evening, when she gets home, she finds a business card has been fed through her letterbox. She carries it into the kitchen, puts her groceries on the counter before scanning it quickly. On one side is printed the name Ed McDonagh, Daily Mail, and on the back in a spidery crawl are the words: ‘Sorry if I startled you this morning. I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. Ed.’

Her heart gives an involuntary kick, an old feeling of deep unease coming over her.

She shoves the card far down into the kitchen bin, then scrubs her hands under the tap, wishing Jake would come home soon.

Clouds are gathering in the evening sky and the washing remains outside. The gash on her shin is healing – she can feel the tightness of the skin gathering there, the itch of it knitting together as she hurries out into the garden. She reaches for the clothes, plucks them from the line, working quickly as she drops them into the basket. It is only when she retrieves the basket and holds it to her waist that she looks about in the grass and sees that the rusting tricycle is gone. A bald patch in the weeds is the only indication of its recent presence. Her eyes snap up towards the windows of the house. She scans them quickly, her pulse quickening, looking for a face. There is nothing but the panes of glass reflecting back at her the milky-white bank of clouds.

5

Anton

Anton wakes to the snapping sound of his letterbox closing. He blinks in the new day, feels the weight of heat in the air already bearing down on him. For a few moments, he just lies there, feeling the emptiness of the house, the hours of the day stretching ahead of him.