‘So we’ll just dream about food instead – like fried flying fish splashed with lemon juice.’

‘A cheeseburger and chips,’ I said.

‘Jollof rice served with tender, succulent beef and plantain,’ said Troy, practically drooling.

‘A cheeseburger and chips with tomato ketchup on the side.’

‘I’m spotting a pattern here.’ I heard rather than saw Troy’s attempt at a smile.

‘Cheeseburger is the food of the gods.’

‘Lesser gods.’

‘Nought gods.’

‘Let’s not get political,’ said Troy with a sigh. ‘I’m too tired.’

‘All right. Let’s call it the food of the haute-cuisine gods,’ I said, compromising.

‘Night, Libby,’ said Troy firmly.

I closed my eyes, my smile fading. What Troy and I needed now was a miracle. I’d never believed in them before.

Now was a good time to start.

eighteen. Sephy

I am a Cross woman. More than the cliché of a woman who is always indomitable, never vulnerable. So much more than the stereotype of a woman who is fearless, never afraid. I just try to make sure that I don’t live my life in fear; that would be no life at all. But there have been moments when I’ve silently broken down and cried, when I’ve seriously wondered if I had the strength to get out of bed in the morning. I guess most women have felt the same at some point – some more, some less. I’m a Cross woman with so many facets to my being that even I haven’t discovered them all yet.

Some days I feel I could circumnavigate the planet in three strides max.

But then there are nights like this.

It’s the last day of October, three o’clock in the morning, and my brain is ticking like a cheap, old-fashioned watch.

Where’s my son?

Callie begged me to leave everything to her and Tobey, and God knows I’m trying, but it’s so hard. I can’t stop my mind from whirling.

That’s my trouble, Callum. I think too much.

Maybe that’s the reason for all these nightmares. They haunt me practically every night and I have no idea why. If anything, the bad dreams should’ve started when Nathan was killed, but that was over two years ago. And surely any nightmares should’ve been about what happened to him?

But they aren’t.

The bad dreams I can just about cope with. Just about. It’s the screaming myself awake that’s messing with my head. It’s the fear of the same nightmare happening night after night that has me too terrified to try and sleep unaided. Instead, I wait till my brain is zombified and zombie-fried enough to just pass out. Luckily for me, Troy’s room is on the other side of the house near Meggie’s bedroom suite where my outbursts can’t be heard. That’s one good thing at least.