Mum moved a few months after Grace left. Our bungalow sold for far less than it should, but too many people had seen it on the news. People move to Cornwall to live close to the sea, not the scene of a brutal murder, but Mum didn’t care. It gave her enough to buy a tiny two-bed flat in the center of Ashford. She’s decided, on the advice of her therapist, to get to know her new neighbors slowly. Mum had a breakdown, or in Zara’s words “needed a bit of a rest,” when the truth about Meg came out. Zara and Mum closed the salon for a month. She told me Meg had taken the photo of Jakey in hospital and persuaded Mum to post it online. She said she was sorry before she started crying again. I told her—honestly—that I don’t blame her. We were all under Meg’s spell.

I helped Mum take down all the photos of Meg and Grace late one night because she didn’t want anyone seeing us. I caught Mum staring at a photo of the two of them, both leaning forward to grin into the camera, Meg holding Grace’s hand between both her own. Mum’s eyes glazed in concentration as she said, “I used to think it was the cutest thing, you know, the way they always held hands.”

I looked closer: in the photo, Grace’s fingers were swollen red, flushed with blood. Meg was always touching Grace, on her hand, her shoulder, her leg. But like Grace said, it was never to hold her daughter, or to reassure, like when Mum holds mine. It was a way for Meg to remind Grace that she was in charge. Her touch was a warning.

Mum and Zara are back running the salon again now and Zara dyed Mum’s hair blond on the first day they reopened, which I take as a sign they’re both looking forward.

Dennis is just “the butcher” again and Sylvia does her nails at home now; she says it’s to save money. David Raffin hasn’t been seen in Summervale since June. Martin has been heard saying he always had his suspicions about Meg but no one believed him. Meg and Grace pulled us all together but, when the truth came out, they pulled us all apart again.

“So I’m really delighted to be here and look forward to getting to know you all.” The room breaks around me into gentle, supportive applause as Jamie, now the color of a poinsettia, sits down. Dr. Mackenzie turns with a smile to the note-taking, black-haired girl next to me. She’s less red, but far shyer than Jamie.

“Hello everyone, my name’s Rose-Marie and I moved to the UK from Hong Kong . . .”

Jon didn’t want me to visit when he was recovering at home. I felt it as soon as I walked into his room. The atmosphere around his bed was unfriendly, like a hand gently pushing me away. I tried not to let my disappointment show. I’d wanted to tell him about my plans to become a journalist. How I was going to study criminology and then do a postgrad in journalism. I thought he’d want to hear, but he didn’t ask and I lost my nerve to tell him. He’d written me a card thanking me for helping him, for calling the ambulance. He didn’t even mention Grace.