Cat blows out a long stream of smoke, not meeting my eye. Then she says: ‘He’s not so bad. You know, I saw him yesterday.’

‘What?’ The word is chilly.

‘Yeah.’ Cat nods. ‘He invites me to his anniversary party every year. I think Diane still hates me. But she hates me less with every year that passes.’

My fingers burn, and I realize I’ve smoked the cigarette down to the butt. ‘How could you go to his party? That’s crazy.’

‘You still hate him, huh?’

‘Of course I do. Don’t you?’

‘No.’ Cat’s eyes find mine. ‘Not anymore. We’ve forgiven each other. Even Diane and I are sort of getting along. You know, she actually talked to me yesterday. We had a half-hour conversation about packing a flight bag. The eyedrops, rescue remedy, moisturizer. She’s dull as ditch water, but at least she was trying. And do you know, Cat, I’ve been taking probiotics all week for my flight tomorrow. And I keep a tub of them in my suitcase, packed in ice.’

‘I can’t believe you’re talking like this. Like you’re friends with them.’

‘I am friends with them. Nothing was ever proved, Lorna. And half the stuff you said about Michael … I’m not sure even you believed it. You barely knew your own mind when you were with him. I don’t believe Michael hurt my daughter. Truly I don’t.’

My jaw hardens. ‘Brainwashing. You always said you were too strong for him. But you’re not. You let him in. You’re drinking the Michael juice just like everyone else.’

‘Michael hasn’t got to me. He was there for me. He understood like no one else did. And he forgave me for getting everything twisted. Do you want a cup of tea?’ Cat gestures to a country cottage-style kitchen.

‘Nothing got twisted. He hurt your daughter, Cat.’

‘NO.’ The word booms around Cat’s wooden kitchen. ‘My daughter is okay. I don’t know where she is, but she’s okay.’ Cat takes a deep inhale and exhale, eyes closed. Suddenly, her long eyelashes ping open again. ‘Listen, honey. I accept you see things a certain way. But it’s not the way I see things now. Michael and I are friends.’

Tears come. ‘You and me were the only ones, remember? The sane-os. The only ones not buying into Michael’s bullshit.’

‘We were the bullshit, Lorna,’ says Cat. ‘Your crazy stalker brain told you stories and we both believed them. Because I needed answers, and you needed a reason to hate Michael. But I’m in a better place now. Back then, I needed to believe Annalise had died. Because I couldn’t face the truth.’

‘Which is?’