There was a murder investigation. No, he couldn’t be dead. They hadn’t found a body. I touched my collarbone and felt my heartbeat. Would I know if he had died?

“I would never be violent,” I said.

You must not be so … helter-skelter, said my mother. Remember—you are calm and dignified. Remember. Remember. Yes, Mother. I recollected myself and stopped ruining my shoe.

“You weren’t violent,” said Trish. “That was Mitch and Chris. You have—had—a violent mind. Impulsive. You never had a good idea, but you could make anything sound like one. Dad hated it. I think he was glad to send me to boarding school. Anyway, we wrote, Gary and I, when you wouldn’t talk to us, but your mother told us not to. And you never bothered to answer.”

I didn’t believe her, and yet I could imagine the conversations, after the letters had arrived, with Sergeant Aberdeen—since Trish was away—and Gary. Mother gentle, slightly sad. That was just a little thoughtless, wasn’t it, Gary dear, to bring this all up again? Just a trifle unkind? Waiting until Gary mumbled, Yes, Mrs Scott.

I kicked at the dirt, viciously. I hadn’t wanted this. I just wanted to know if my brothers had sent the letter.

Trish had jumped up to sit on the bonnet of the truck and lit her cigarette. “Why act like it’s such a big deal, like no-one’s ever asked questions around here? It’s what my dad does. Why do you think he’s stayed in Runagate? Last time my mum was ever seen was somewhere in Inglewell. He should leave; we should all go.”

“Unfinished business,” said Gary.

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You believed in the megarrity right enough.”

“Only because I saw—”

They bickered on. I ought to have hated the sound, but it fell easily into the background. I climbed the rough verge of the road to the fence. Flowers like puffed rice scraped my hem, loose dirt and grey leaves gave beneath my feet, sifted through my sandals. A small shelter rusted there—a stand for milk cans, or perhaps a mailbox, now empty except for leaves and fine-limbed spiders. The tin, lovely in decay, curved hot under my hand. Peace.

“You’ll get tetanus,” called Trish. “I’m not explaining that to your mother. Tell her, Gary.”

There might be dozens of places like this. The shelter was right beside the road, and I hadn’t seen it. Whole buildings could sink into the trees and disappear. How much easier for people to vanish.

Hot wind vibrated in the fence wires, flickered the light through the branches. “Come on,” said Gary, and opened his door. “Let’s keep moving.”

“How much farther?” groaned Trish. “There aren’t even any decent radio stations out here.”