Izzy misses the noise and the lights. She’s bored to be honest but they had to come, obviously. Sorrel’s getting better, so everyone’s happy about that, but her memory hasn’t come back, maybe it won’t. Mum’s loads better; she talks about Dad sometimes, they’re both just relieved he’s in prison. Everyone loves tennis, but she misses the games they used to play. They could always start playing them again, you know, in a bit.

17. April

Eve

‘Where’s Ash’s tractor?’

‘Tractor?’ Eve echoes Sorrel’s question sleepily. Across the lawn, the old house glows pink-orange in the spring sunshine, the windows are wide open. The interior will be silent and flooded with light. Grace is writing somewhere inside that quietness. Behind the house, sheep are dotted all over the Downs, smaller ones amongst the larger ones. April is hot this year, hotter than usual; it’s as though summer has come early. The grass is thick. She hasn’t worn shoes for a week. Sorrel is lying on her stomach next to her, drawing pictures on a pad of paper. Half awake, Eve feels, imagines she feels, another presence, a head near hers. A blond one, green eyes staring up into the branches of the cypress tree above them. A life unlived, alongside hers. For once the pain has receded enough so she can feel the edge of contentment, not happiness, not yet.

‘You know, the red one.’

‘It’s in a bag, sweetheart, in the loft, back at home.’ Then the question hits her; she sits up, the blond head disappears, she puts her hand on the grass where he would have been. Sorrel has a new memory. She must keep calm, mustn’t exclaim, mustn’t even hug her.

‘What did he use to do with his tractor?’

‘He ran it over my tummy. It tickled.’ Sorrel starts humming. She is colouring in, brown branches, green grass, a big yellow sun. ‘It was a nice tractor. I liked it.’

‘I liked it too, sweetheart. It was a lovely tractor.’

Sorrel smiles, choosing a yellow crayon for the buttercups.

‘He had some other toys too, but I can’t remember them. What did we call his little teddy with the vest, for instance?’

‘Sparkly Teddy. Honestly, Mummy.’

Eve presses her palms to her eyes; she mustn’t cry either. ‘I know. Silly me. How could I have forgotten that? It must be this place.’