‘Why?’

‘Because if you’re responsible for what happened to Helen, then I’m responsible for what happened to my sister, Josie,’ I blurted out.

He stared at me, his attention caught.

There’s a beat and then, ‘What happened to your sister?’

I hesitated and swallowed hard. ‘That’s just it – I don’t know. She’s been missing for two years. She could be dead, for all I know.’

It was the first time I’d said those words out loud, so terrified had I been that by articulating my worst fear, I’d make it come true. Yet at the same I felt suddenly unburdened, freed of their crushing weight.

‘Missing? You never said.’ Valentine’s face creased with concern. ‘But why is that your fault?’

It was a question I’d asked myself a million times.

‘Because I was supposed to look after her,’ I said simply. ‘Before my mum died, I always remember her telling me to be a good girl. “Look after your sister for me, she’s not as strong as you are—”’ I break off, casting my mind back. ‘My sister’s older than me, but she’s always been more fragile. Though you’d never think it.’

I stared down at my hands, twisting them in my lap.

‘She was always so creative and witty; all the boys wanted to be with her, and all the girls wanted to be her. But she’d get so homesick on school trips that Dad would have to bring her home. We used to share a bedroom when we stayed at my grandparents, and she used to cry in the night . . . I’d crawl under the covers and spoon her until she fell asleep.’

Reminded of her soft warmth, I drifted back for a few moments. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this – it’s not important.’

But Valentine shook his head. ‘Yes, it is,’ he urged. ‘It is important. Memories are important. It’s what we’re all made up of.’ He blinked hard and I knew he was thinking of Gisele and Helen. ‘I want you to tell me about her.’

There was so much to say. Where did I start?

‘Josie’s like a bright light. She’s either on or off.’ I conjured up my big sister, starting with the broadest strokes. ‘She’ll get ideas and be so excited; she was so much fun when we were growing up . . .’ I smiled, remembering. ‘But then she’d exhaust herself and get in these dark moods where I couldn’t reach her.’

I paused, the memories painful.

‘When we were young we didn’t understand mental illness, nobody spoke about it then; it would be years till she was finally diagnosed with bipolar.’

I raised my eyes to meet Valentine’s. He was looking at me, his face filled with concern.

‘She got a scholarship to art college to do photography, but she fell into the wrong crowd, drinking, doing drugs . . . For a while it was like we lost her, but then she got on the right medication and won a prestigious award and moved to New York.’ I smiled, remembering her excitement. ‘Dad and I were so proud – it’s what she’d dreamed of, yet we were worried . . . but America seemed to suit her. Everything here always felt too small for Josie, like wearing clothes that don’t fit. She seemed to find it constricting, too claustrophobic. But there it’s like she bloomed; she made friends, had boyfriends, she seemed happy—’