On some level, I can still hear her words.

But my breath is stuck in my chest and my eyes are rooted to the photo.

Not on the girl, not on the man, but on the other person in the picture.

Susie is still talking and the room is swimming now and my head is filled with white noise. I stare at the image, my throat dry.

And suddenly, it all comes crashing down.

Suddenly, I know.

22

June 1985

SPLASHES OF WATER BURST high into the cloudless sky, then back down, rippling across the surface of the paddling pool, and Lily laughed. Mary watched. It was so easy to make her happy. Two parents who loved her. Some fun in her day. A story at night. It was that simple. And as long as Mary kept it like that, Lily would stay happy. At the drinks table, Fran and Zara were lining up glasses and straightening bottles. They’d shown up in white shirts and black skirts; a catering uniform of sorts that caused Mary to smile.

‘It’s just a few neighbours, nothing fancy,’ she’d reassured them, hoping, as she said it, that she was correct. The neighbours had come to expect so much from their parties and she was never quite sure if she’d struck the right tone. Or theme. Or dress.

‘You’re so effortlessly glamorous,’ Della had said recently. ‘And so calm and serene. Like a swan among us ugly ducklings,’ she’d added with a self-deprecating laugh.

A swan, serene on the surface, but paddling furiously beneath – where no one can see, Mary wanted to say. The outsider, expected to know how to act. How to be. How to throw a birthday party or a dinner party, or, as was the case today, a wedding anniversary party. Imagine if their guests knew the level of Robbie’s commitment to his vows.

‘Five years is a big milestone!’ Robbie had said, without irony, ‘and I want to show you off to everyone.’ And so here she was, on a sunny Saturday afternoon in June, in a full-length cream sundress, waiting for their guests, hoping she’d got everything just right.

Ines and Victor were the first to arrive, Cora trailing meekly behind. Mary smiled hello as Fran led them through to the back garden. Ines flashed a rare smile back, but there was nothing friendly in it. There never was.

‘How was your trip to Spain?’ Mary asked. ‘You’re home earlier than expected?’

‘Yes. There were some problems. My mother is very ill.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

Ines clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Why are you sorry? You did not make her ill.’

‘I just meant—’

‘My mother is old. It is not a big surprise that she is sick and that she will die. Why must people make such a drama of these things. Death comes for all of us.’

Mary, whose mother had died in her forties, wasn’t sure how to respond, so she switched to a more practical topic. ‘Do you need to get back over there? I could help take care of Cora if you like?’