She clips the lead back on to the dog’s collar and, moving with purpose now, she walks down Wyndham Park and out on to the road behind. It’s late now, and all is quiet. She finds the entrance to the alleyway easily enough, feels her heart fill with fear and expectation as she hurries along the narrow space, ivy spilling over the high walls. It’s been years but she finds the gap quickly. The garden is densely overgrown and it’s dark back there. The dog is her cover. If caught, she can claim Mona slipped the lead and ran this way – she was merely coming to reclaim her.

Through the undergrowth, she sees a light and creeps towards it. Catches the scent of cigarette smoke on the air – at once nostalgic and achingly familiar. Halfway down the garden, the house comes clearly into view and she stops. Stares. Grips the dog’s lead firmly to her side, feels the animal’s warmth against her shin.

Voices in the darkness. Two of them. Her eyes narrow and strain through the gloom.

They are sitting together, Anton and the young woman. Hilary holds her breath, taking him in – the broadness of his shoulders hunched forward a little, a new thinness to his frame. Through the darkness it’s difficult to see, but she can make out the contours of his shapely head, the line of his jaw, a pugnacious tilt to his chin – these things have not changed. The dog shifts by her side, looks up at her, confused, but Hilary doesn’t move. She is transfixed.

‘There is something about you,’ she hears Anton say, ‘that seems utterly familiar to me.’ Watches him reach forward, touch the girl’s hand.

Years crash away, all the layers stripped back, old feelings flooding to the surface. Hilary crouches there in the shadows, the blood pounding in her ears, feeling the build of those dark emotions inside her, loud and threatening.

9

Leah

‘I don’t believe it,’ Jake says.

Leah watches him carefully. He is still standing by the door but his face has drained of colour.

‘You’re sure?’ he asks then, and she nods, waiting for him to say something more now that she has finally told him.

They are in the kitchen of their flat on Saturday afternoon. Jake wears his soccer gear, having just come from training with Matthew, who’s now flopped on the bed in the little room he has made his own. The mindless electronic drone of music from the Xbox reaches them. Jake closes the door on it before pulling out a chair from the kitchen table and sitting down. He looks stunned.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you like this …’

‘No. No, it’s fine.’