I know I won’t use it, so prop it against the wall. ‘Lark, listen to me, we need to get Jackson help.’ I step closer. ‘Keep with us,’ I say to him, touching his arm. ‘You need to keep with us.’

‘I raced back to the cottage that night,’ Lark goes on. She clearly wants me to know everything. Wants me to understand. ‘Mum was crying in her room. She knew what he’d done – seen him too.

‘I grabbed Jackson’s car keys, some money and Mum’s wig, then took her wheelchair from the car.’

I make a dive for my phone, but she kicks it across the room.

‘When I got back to him he was woozy, confused. I crushed three of my Diazepam, and made him swallow them. In fact, I’ve been putting some of my old prescription in his food recently.

‘I grabbed a mask from one of the trees, as I wheeled Jackson to the car in the chair. It squeaked and I was so afraid I might be heard.’

I heard – it hadn’t been a dream.

‘But nobody came, so I heaved him into the back of the car. I knew where I was heading – and took mainly back roads here – avoiding cameras – and wearing the wig and mask if a road had CCTV. Easy really.’

I can’t believe my sister had been so calculating. All this time I’d feared she was the helpless one. ‘How have you survived?’ I whisper.

‘Working at a local farm, cash in hand.’

‘They never recognised you?’

She shakes her head. ‘Once I’d cropped off my hair, nobody would have thought I was the blonde-haired girl covered in make-up that they shared all over the media.’

Jackson’s breathing is shallow. ‘He’s going to die, Lark,’ I say. ‘Please don’t let him die. You’re not a killer.’

‘Aren’t I?’

‘Please. I don’t want to lose you again. I’ll be here for you. Please. Let’s get Jackson to hospital.’

A tear rolls down her face. ‘Do you miss Mum, Amelia?’ she whispers.

‘All the time.’

‘I was at the crematorium. I was there. I said goodbye to her.’ Tears stream down her face, and I reach for her hand. She lets me take it.

‘I know. I felt you there,’ I say. ‘Please let me get my phone,’ I go on, stepping forward and reaching for it. She doesn’t stop me.

‘I love Jackson. I love him so much it makes my insides ache,’ she says. ‘Why did he hurt me? Why did he break my heart?’ She drops the needle to the floor and climbs onto the bed next to him. His lips are dry – his breathing raspy, but he’s hanging on. She puts her arm around him, curls her body into him, like she’s joined, growing there. ‘I love you,’ she whispers and closes her eyes.