But the week before, there’s another entry: The Castle. What the hell is that? I can’t think of any castles near our house in Somerset. There’s nothing about a Mini-Mental State Exam or a brain scan. I rifle through the whole of September, October, November. I skip back to 15 August. Nothing resembling a hospital appointment.

I carefully replace Dad’s journal on top of his politics book and beneath the Sudoku. Either our father’s memory is so bad that he didn’t even remember to write down his appointment, or else my sisters are lying. But why would they lie about taking him to hospital?

14 AUGUST, ITALY

22

AMY

Matt grunts and rolls over. Once, he’d have begun the day by enveloping her in his arms, and they’d have eased into wakefulness together. He must have drunk the best part of a bottle of red last night and his snoring kept her awake. She grabs her dressing gown and staggers downstairs to make breakfast for Lotte and Theo. The curtains are still drawn and they’re huddled together on the sofa, watching a DVD.

‘Too loud,’ she yawns at them, as another dragon annihilates its opponent with an ultra-violet fireball. ‘You’ll wake everyone up.’

She opens the kitchen door and feels vaguely surprised that it’s been left unlocked overnight. The air is fresh and smells of dewdamp oregano: a thin mist floats between the silver olive trunks and the sky is the colour of a split peach. She steps outside and inhales deeply. As she does, she catches a tiny movement out of the corner of her eye. She walks round the edge of the pool, the tiles cold against her bare feet. The shadow of a tree in the wind, she thinks. But the day is still. She stands on the edge of the terrace and looks through the cypresses to the shed; the interior is dark and she can’t see anyone or anything there. She tightens the sash of her gown around her waist. She must have imagined it. Or maybe it was a bird, or a cat.