The implication in her words wasn’t hard to read. That sort of thing didn’t happen, not here, in this quaint little town hours away from the city.

Not here, where things were safe – not even to people like John.

‘But why do they think – How do they – Is Vera okay?’

‘Vera’s fine,’ I said, but even as I did, I knew it was a lie. Vera was alive, sure, but she was far from fine. Wouldn’t be fine for a very long time. Maybe ever. And it was all my fault. ‘I mean, she’s safe, yes.’

‘How do they know it was murder? Could it have been an accident?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, the lie coming easily. I couldn’t bear to share the details. Stabbed. It was too intimate, too personal. Maggie hadn’t even liked him. ‘They wouldn’t say.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ Maggie said. ‘That’s just, that’s just awful.’

Her eyes focused on a point somewhere in the distance, and I could see it, suddenly: her wheels turning, piecing something together.

‘What?’ I asked. Her eyes were still locked ahead, avoiding mine, and I reached for her arm. ‘Maggie, what is it?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, shrugging me off. ‘Only, someone murdered. Someone from our street. It’s horrible, isn’t it?’

‘Is there something else you know, something you need to tell me?’

The clouds in her eyes seemed to clear, and they found mine again.

‘Just that I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I know how much you cared about him.’

I didn’t go over to the farmhouse until after seven. The walk was awful, my flashlight casting shadows everywhere, turning every last twig into something tall and foreboding. I strode quickly, trying to tune out the nefarious sounds of night in the country.

Vera’s car was in the driveway, and John’s truck, too, but no lights were on inside. I knocked anyway, waited.

I was about to turn back when she opened the door. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks sunken. She looked like a ghost, a specter of herself, and she smelled overwhelmingly of cigarettes.

I opened my arms and she fell into them, practically collapsing. She felt so small and bony, her body shaking, her head knocking into my shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. She shook harder.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but eventually, Vera pulled away, her eyes avoiding mine. She ushered me in, and I followed her to the living room; she didn’t offer me a drink, only sat on the couch. I took the space next to her, wondering if it was the first time we’d been together here without some sort of alcohol lubricating our interactions.

After a moment, she stared at me. ‘Did John tell you anything?’

My pulse sped up. She knew. About that night, what we had and hadn’t done.

‘What do you mean?’