“I can’t decide whether I’m glad they caught him in time so we can fight for justice, or if I wish he’d managed it, saved us all the pain of the trial,” Mum says.

I swallow and try to look like I don’t care either way.

“Mum, I’m feeling really knackered again, I think maybe I’ll try to go back to sleep if that’s OK.” I wriggle down under the duvet. Mum smiles and strokes my hair.

“You want me to stay with you, Car? I don’t mind.” Under her palm, I shake my head.

“I’ll be all right, Mum, I promise, I just want to sleep.” I hear her pick up the bottle of pills she left next to me.

“I’m leaving two here for you, by your water glass. I think you should take them.”

“Maybe later. Thanks, Mum.”

Outside, the sky is the inside of a shell, all pink and peach. Mum draws the curtains against it, as though the beauty of it will make me feel worse.

“Good night, darling.” She leans over and kisses me. “Love you.”

“You too, Mum.”

I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until at last Mum closes the door behind her and I feel my lungs relax. There’s a buzzing sound in my head, like my thoughts are all out of tune with each other. Simon tried to kill himself. I can’t imagine his desperation, the loneliness of knowing the truth but feeling the world turn its back. Simon didn’t kill Meg and he didn’t try to hurt Grace. I bet Danny’s death wasn’t his fault either. I think all this, but I can’t prove any of it, and I’m presented with a choice: either I join everyone I love and ignore my instincts about Simon or I fight for him because I know he’s innocent and he can’t fight for himself. As soon as the question takes shape in my head, I’ve answered it.

I pick up my phone from my bedside table and scroll through my contacts. The sound of meticulously planned laughter echoes out of the sitting room; Mum’s watching one of her talk shows. Jon picks up after just one ring.

“Cara, how are you feeling? Any better?” His voice is softer than usual.

“Yeah. Look, Jon, Mum just told me something.”

Jon swears softly when I tell him about Simon. I don’t mention the razor; I don’t want to picture any more blood.

Through the phone I hear the sound of a car door slamming shut.

“Where are you going?” I ask in a loud whisper.

“It doesn’t matter, Cara, you need to stay at home, be with your mum for a while.”

As he says it I know he’s wrong, I don’t need to be here. I need to know who Grace really is—whether she’s being held against her will or not. I need to know whether GoodSam or someone else was waiting for her in the shadows at the graveyard, whether they’re controlling her. But then I remember the way she looked at me, the sneer on her lips, the fact she was lying to us all about being able to walk, about her age. She didn’t look like a victim. This isn’t over. Not yet.