‘Not Julian.’ She was deep in thought, trying to make connections to frayed threads, half-remembered words . . . ‘Our viewpoint all the way through has been informed by what Cory told us and what we could see on those tapes. We could see what Kit did and what it meant for Cory . . . Cory was the victim . . .’ Her eyes met theirs. ‘But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also the aggressor.’

Johnny’s eyebrows arched. Cory was the hero in Pipe Dreams. Cory was practically a saint.

She looked intently at Matty. ‘Beau’s gone on tape telling us Cory was agitated, acting up, getting in Kit’s face.’

‘Yeah. Tit for tat. Kit plays mind games,’ Matty shrugged. ‘We’ve seen that for ourselves.’

‘Agreed, I’m not disputing it. But just reframe the story for a moment – consider it if everything was the other way round.’

‘. . . You mean, if Cory started it?’ Matty asked in a puzzled tone.

‘If Cory started it – before they got in the water. If Kit was reacting to something Cory had done. But instead of being distracted or broken or defeated, Kit got angry . . .’

No one spoke as they tried to reverse the roles. To switch the world into a negative of itself.

Clover gave a small breath. ‘Oh god, that’s it . . . That’s why he won’t say a word in self-defence, because that would mean revealing what Cory did to him . . . and protecting Cory’s memory – protecting Cory’s family – is all he can do now . . .’

The silence spread as they all considered her words.

‘Well then this film is screwed!’ Matty threw her hands in the air. ‘There’s always going to be a hole in the middle of it if we don’t know what went down between them. And we won’t, because if Kit’s not going to talk in the face of this insane amount of pressure, then he’s never going to talk!’

Clover looked back at them as the dominoes in her head lay flat, exposed now, revealing themselves. ‘Actually . . . I think he already has. I think he told me before I even asked.’

‘What?’

‘When?’ Johnny and Matty asked in synchronicity.

Clover blinked. ‘. . . Pretty much the day we met.’

Chapter Thirty-One

Clover paced on the balcony. The wind was getting up, blowing loose powder off the uppermost surface of the handrail. She trailed a finger through the thick seam of snow; it went up to her knuckle, the freezing sensation delayed for a few seconds.

She stuck her hand in her pocket, counting back through the time zones. Midnight here meant it would be early afternoon over there right now. The boys would be at school. No doubt they’d have been in the water already . . . surfing from sun-up, like their dad used to.

‘Hello?’

‘Mia, it’s Clo.’

‘Clo!’

‘Is now a good time? I can call back later if you’re busy?’