Nick visibly deflates, as if the toll of telling Bethany’s story has sapped him of all his energy. He stands by the kitchen window and looks out over the city spread below them.

Matt pulls his chair out of the way, so their father can get up from behind the table, but he doesn’t help him to his feet or steer him by his elbow, as he normally would. After her husband and her father have left the room, Amy looks over at Chloe. She’s about to say she’ll call Chloe a taxi, when her stepdaughter looks directly at her for the first time that evening and Amy, instead, finds herself asking, ‘You knew? You knew all this time?’

Chloe nods. She’s blinking hard to stop herself from crying. Amy passes her a tissue and takes one for herself.

‘Bee told me. Can I stay here? Please?’ her stepdaughter asks. ‘I could sleep in Ruby-May’s bed?’

Amy hesitates. It’s time. It is time.

She holds out her hand to Chloe. ‘Yes, love, you can.’

PART IV

21 NOVEMBER, SOMERSET

40

NICK

A few ragged leaves still cling to the otherwise bare branches. The pewter-grey trunks of the beeches have a long damp streak, with a greenish sheen on the opposite side from the prevailing wind. Orange larch needles have collected in the corners of the drive, and pinecones pop beneath my tyres. I pull up outside and sit in the car, collecting myself. There is always that moment of dislocation when you return to your childhood home and hold the conflicting dualities within you of yourself both as a child and an adult. The child inside the man… That hungry, lonely little boy is still trapped inside me somewhere, or maybe I left him here, wandering in this garden, gathering the courage to climb the ruined cottage by himself; a small ghost, now joined by another child’s, only one who never had the chance to realize any of her dreams. Still not too late to go in search of mine… I tell myself and try not to wince at my sentimentality.

The house looks as if no one lives here: the windows are dark, the curtains have not been drawn and the once-neat lavenderedged herb garden at the front is dense with ash saplings and long grass. I knock on the door and then let myself in. Amy insisted we all have spare keys. Just in case. Dad is in a high-backed chair by the fire. His hair is uncombed and his cardigan is buttoned up incorrectly. He has a rug wrapped round his lap, but he hasn’t lit a fire. He pushes his glasses onto his forehead when he sees me.

‘Ah, Nick. What a nice surprise!’

‘You invited me.’

‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Yup. For lunch. I called you yesterday to confirm. Remember?’