Oh, yes, I’d felt guilty. I tested myself. Searching for that familiar heaviness in my gut. It was much better now. But it had taken over twenty years.

Dad stroked the side of his glass. ‘I hadn’t realised how badly it affected you, Meg. I didn’t realise you felt responsible. I’m sorry. It was never your fault.’

I sighed. Maybe he would have realised if he hadn’t absented himself so thoroughly from my life. ‘I know it wasn’t my fault,’ I said. ‘But I was horrible to her the day she did it.’

An odd look flitted across Dad’s face and he moved his mouth as if he was going to speak, and then didn’t.

‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What else happened that day?’

He paused, then said, ‘Nothing. You were ten. It wasn’t your responsibility. But we know first-hand the effect it has on families. I want to help other people.’

I remembered all the times Mum had tried to talk to him about Carrie, before he left. All the slammed doors and seething silences. Maybe Pauline had been good for him. He seemed to have genuinely softened over the years. ‘What do you want to do?’ I said.

‘There’s a group with an office near where I live. They man phone lines, but they keep having to move premises so they’re trying to buy somewhere. They need to raise quite a bit of money. I was going to donate to them.’

‘That’s good of you.’ I wondered if he’d had a win on the poker. After he retired, he’d taught himself memory techniques and with his mathsy brain and knowledge of probability, he’d turned into a bit of a card-shark.

‘Your mother said she might donate some of your gran’s money too,’ he said.

I was relieved that Dad was finally talking about what had happened, that he was doing good, that he was in touch with Mum and she approved. Maybe our family wasn’t beyond salvation.

34

Meg – Present day

Thursday

It was early morning and the station felt empty and echoey and smelled of disinfectant. I was torturing myself looking at the Justice for Violet page, which Facebook in their wisdom had still not taken down. We hadn’t caught the balaclava-men yet.

I scrolled through the newsfeed. Lots of incoherence, and a video which involved a pet goat. I couldn’t watch it. I clicked on a different video. A thick-necked man wearing a black T-shirt and a balaclava. His face was covered but anyone who knew him would surely recognise his voice. He spoke to the camera and I realised it was the same man who’d held a knife to my throat.