Lily starts up the path, threading her way through the gloomy undergrowth. She hasn’t been this way since—

“Lillian!”

She hurries back to the garden just as Edna emerges from the house.

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Nothing,” says Lily. “It’s just . . . I think there’s someone over at the Old Vicarage.”

Edna shuffles her way along the path and peers through the trees. “They must have started work on the place. Well, we knew it was happening.” Edna frowns at her. “You are prepared for what’s coming?”

Lily has no idea what’s coming, but she won’t admit it. “Yes, of course. It’s just . . . well, perhaps you could talk to Oscar, get him to change his mind?”

“I already have, you know that.”

“I do? I mean . . . yes, of course I do. But you could try again, I know you could. Ever since he got back—”

“You forget,” says Edna, “he’s not a little boy anymore. He’s a grown man. Quite capable of making his own decisions.”

“But what if—?”

“Enough! I’ll deal with it.” But then she coughs and bends double, and Lily has to help her slowly back to the sun lounger. All thoughts of anyone going anywhere evaporate as Edna takes a turn for the worse and Lily’s time is taken up with helping her back to bed.

All the while, the letter burns against Lily’s thigh. She is certain, beyond any reasonable doubt, the message was meant for her.

I know what you did.

If only she could remember what that was.

—

The kitchen is fetid and damp. Tyler’s armpits are hot and sticky, and his head is beginning to feel the same way. The uniformed officer standing watch over Oscar Cartwright has taken the opportunity to step outside for some fresh air, and he can hear Doggett and Elliot talking together somewhere deeper in the house. Or arguing, possibly. He is alone with Oscar. He paces back and forth across the floor, somehow infected with Doggett’s perpetual-movement syndrome. It’s as though as long as he keeps moving, he won’t have to start. Because he has no idea where to start. How is this man here?

Tyler stops pacing and leans forward, placing his hands down on a gritty worktop to steady himself. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, more to get his voice working than because he expects an answer that makes any sense.

“Bit of a coincidence?” Oscar says. Even his voice has a slight grin in it.

Tyler presses his hands down hard, feeling the grit that peppers the surface dig small abrasions into the skin of his palms. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. What else could it be?

“You can’t be here.”

“Adam, it’s just a coincidence.”

It’s the first time Oscar has used his name. He’s sure he didn’t give it last night or this morning, so how does he know? And then he remembers that Doggett introduced them. It’s as though his mind is working in slow motion, and he can’t catch up.