‘. . . Straight after the accident, when Cory was still in the hospital, he made an approach. Said he wanted to make amends.’ A bark of scorn split the word into two as Mia sank into the memory. ‘I never told Cory about it. How could I? Kit Foley did this to us and now he wanted to make himself feel better? He’d taken away my husband’s ability to earn! Can you imagine how Cory would have felt if he’d learned Kit fucking Foley was bailing us out?’

Clover closed her eyes, well able to imagine what Cory’s response would have been.

A silence opened up as the truth was allowed to settle.

‘I can’t bear it.’ Mia’s words were almost whispers. ‘I told myself he wouldn’t be so arrogant as to pull that stunt again. I made myself believe Eddie had set it all up . . . How do I tell the boys we’ve got to go again?’

‘Mia, no,’ Clover gasped. ‘You don’t have to leave!’

‘But how can we stay? This is guilt for what he did . . . it’s a form of blood money!’

‘No, that’s the thing . . . I think it’s a form of love—’ Clover’s own voice broke from the emotion. ‘. . . I think he’s trying to make amends in the only way he can . . . Yes, he caused the accident, but Cory was his friend.’ Clover’s voice was quiet. ‘You’re his friend. The boys . . . I know it isn’t obvious, but he’s been trying to . . . protect you, I think.’

There was another heavy silence. It stretched out like a mist on water. ‘You sound sympathetic to him,’ Mia said finally.

‘I guess I am, a bit.’

‘A bit? Or a whole lot?’ Suspicion glinted off the words. ‘Has he turned you, Clo? Have you fallen for his story?’ She gave a gasp of surprise. ‘Oh god, have you fallen for him?’

‘It’s not that!’ Clover replied quickly, her words falling over each other. ‘I just know more now. There was so much more than I knew.’ She swallowed. ‘More, I think, than even Cory knew. He didn’t recover all his memories from the concussion.’

There was a long, loud pause. ‘. . . Didn’t he?’

Clover frowned. What did that mean?

Neither woman spoke, but Clover could feel the connection between them begin to thrum, a vibrating guitar string intoning across the globe. ‘. . . Do you think I don’t know why he lay in that room in the dark for all those weeks . . .? Why he hated himself? Why he raged?’ Mia’s voice was low, ominous, like a faraway storm rumbling over the horizon.

Clover hardly dared to breathe. Her body felt as if made from glass, fragile, as though with one knock she might break. She had thought Mia knew nothing. That was the point – wasn’t it – of this film? The reason why Clover was here?