The traffic is very busy this morning. Car after car after bus after truck all lining up to go a half a mile down the road. I watch the faces of people behind the wheels. Some of them look bored stiff, some anxious and some happy. The happy ones are easy to spot because if they’re not actively smiling they’re singing along to whatever music is coming from the radio.

Sometimes I can see people arguing and it upsets me. I turn away but the feeling doesn’t move as quickly. I’ve never been comfortable with conflict. I hated it when my parents argued. I would go to my bedroom or put my headphones in my ears until the winner emerged. Usually Mam. Thankfully, they didn’t argue often but when they did it made me nervous. I was afraid they would break up. That I’d become one of those children who had to decide who to live with. I worked it out once. I was going to spend the weekdays with Mam because I guessed she’d have the house and that was near my school. And Friday I would go to wherever my dad lived because he always got me food from the chipper on a Friday and I didn’t want to miss out on that. Things were so black and white then. When did they become so grey?

There’s no arguing today, that I can see. I look up at the moon still refusing to go to bed and I smile. Today is going to be a good day. I’m not going to worry about anything. I’ll think only good thoughts. Sauntering towards the café, I’m within sight of the front door when I feel the smile slip from my face.

What the hell are they doing here? Outside the café, I can see the unwelcome sight of the two detectives leaning against their car. Surely they can’t call to my place of work? Can they? And how the hell do they know I work here? I don’t remember telling them. Maybe I did, that morning in the apartment. Everything has become so confusing and I don’t know who I’m hiding what from half the time. But I don’t remember mentioning Muriel’s café, which means they’re checking up on me. Finding out what they can about the girl who Avril Ryan last phoned. The girl who lived in the house where Avril Ryan’s body was found.

My stomach heaves. My body starts to freeze up. What now? A thousand thoughts jump to the front of my mind: Who? What? Why? When? Do they know what I did?