‘All OK with the kids?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. Emily has a bit of a headache but she’ll be fine.’

Susie starts to get up. ‘Oh, the poor thing. I’ll run in and get her some paracetamol.’

I put my hand up. ‘No, she’s fine, honestly.’

Susie shakes her head. ‘I don’t know why you always want to suffer on – there are no medals for it, you know. And God invented paracetamol so we don’t have to put up with pain. At least let me give her a spoon of Calpol. I have an old bottle somewhere.’

‘Please don’t. She’ll be fine with a glass of water.’ The ‘old bottle of Calpol’ is another reason we don’t let Tom and Susie babysit. Susie has a loose relationship with use-by dates and dosage when it comes to medicine, even with other people’s children.

She hovers above her chair. ‘Sometimes I think you forget that I had six of my own. I know what I’m doing.’ She sits down. ‘Anyway, back to Lily Murphy. What else do you want to know?’

I take a sip of my gin and try to think what to ask next. None of what Susie’s said sounds in any way familiar – I don’t remember anyone called Victor or Eddie or Gavin from my childhood. This puts a few more weights on the I didn’t kill Lily Murphy side of the scale. I’m still guilty of taking a life, nothing changes that. But maybe she wasn’t Lily. The images I’ve been staring at for twenty-four hours are skewing perspectives, that’s all. Distorting memories.

‘I’m not sure what I want to know, really … I’m just morbidly fascinated, I guess. Strange to think of such a tragic story taking place right there in our new house. Those poor parents.’

Susie reaches across and pats my knee. ‘I imagine it’s making you think of your own childhood. It’s like a reversal of your story, isn’t it – they lost their child, you lost your parents.’

Mark stiffens again.

‘I can’t help thinking losing a child must be worse,’ I tell her, and I mean it.

‘Be that as it may, it doesn’t diminish your own experience. There’s always someone who has it worse, but losing your parents at such a young age and in such horrific circumstances …’ Her voice cracks. God, she drives me mad sometimes, but she means well. I put my hand on hers.

Mark clears his throat. ‘I’ll go check the kids again, see if Emily’s feeling OK. And Ben and Sophie were arguing over what to watch so I better make sure they’re not killing each other …’

‘Tell them to mind the couch, won’t you?’ Susie calls after him as he disappears inside. ‘No feet on the furniture.’

She turns to me. ‘Those beautiful kids of yours. You know, spending time with my grandchildren is one of my greatest joys in life.’ She says it without the slightest hint of irony. ‘I’m sure you must be sad that your own mother never got to meet her grandchildren.’