Why is he here? Why are they both here, in Cheltenham? Maxine and Martin are MI5, but Cheltenham is the location of Government Communications Headquarters. Could one or both of them have transferred to GCHQ, or been seconded there? GCHQ specialises in communications intelligence and cyber security, but Maxine is all about human intelligence. I am struggling to see how Jane’s death, which was so very domestic – so very Zac – can be of interest to GCHQ.

Martin nods when he and Maxine are a metre apart, and they both stop. The children run to play tag while he and Maxine talk. I am straining to hear them. Martin’s words are clear and loud enough for me to catch. Maxine’s voice is a quiet, cautious murmur, so different from how she spoke to her children. But I can judge from what Martin is saying that she is telling him about Jane.

I catch a familiar name, so distinctive it makes me pause to try to remember where I’ve heard it.

Frederick Veliko.

Then it comes to me. Frederick Veliko is the name of Jane’s brother. Why has Martin mentioned a brother Jane barely knew, in the context of a discussion about her murder, when it is so clear that Zac is responsible for her death?

Martin gives Maxine a final nod, waves at the children as if he is performing the part of a fond but distant uncle, and sets off, heading in the direction he came. Maxine calls out, and the children run to her side and take her hands. I need to get out of here. I hold my breath, praying they won’t climb the steps into the graveyard, as I did. They don’t. Instead, they cross the grass towards a neighbouring field. The boy breaks away and runs. Maxine and the little girl shoot off behind him, laughing as they give chase.

I sit back on my heels, my breathing louder in my own ears than it must actually be, waiting for them to be safely out of sight. I can feel my body sag, as if I am a balloon and giant hands have popped me with a pin, so all the air rushes out of me. Slowly, I make my way out of the graveyard, slipping on the wet path and landing smack on my tailbone. The pain seems to spear through me, but my face is wet with rain, not tears.

Then
Provocations

Two years and two months earlier

Cornwall, Early February 2017

A month had passed since I bled, and I’d made it to sixteen weeks, though Zac thought I was showing symptoms of anxiety and insisted I needed to take things more gently. Secretly, I checked my underwear multiple times a day, terrified each time I looked that there would be blood. But there hadn’t been a single drop more.