She has no idea what Evan will do. She tries to think what she would do if she were him, but she can no longer think that way. She will forever be the Cathy who answered her sister’s call in the middle of the night, however much she’d like not to be.

And now they’re searching a wider area. They’ve only been home for four weeks. And the crossroads that Cathy has been avoiding is suddenly there, right in front of her. As messy and as sick and as hopeless as the animal she is operating on.

Afterwards, they’re alone with Evan in the recovery room. The dog is recovering, sedated, the owner still out front. It’s absurd, she finds herself thinking, as Evan places his hands on the table and looks at them. There’s no way they can’t tell him. Is there? They implicated themselves with a conversation that should have taken place somewhere else. Isn’t that always the way? People become more and more complacent, until they slip up.

But it was their reaction to it too. Like a silent bomb had gone off. They should have shrugged it off. Made something up. The amount of time that’s passed in which no excuse has been provided means they have given too much weight to his eavesdropping.

Evan is squinting at her and frowning, like she is in bright sun and he in shade. ‘You obviously know something about the missing man on the news. Right? You were in Verona. You were saying … I mean, call me crazy but … I can’t see how this isn’t … that.’

Joe is unhooking the gas pipes, not looking at either of them.

It’s the middle of the evening. They would both usually be at home. Her eyes are heavy. ‘Evan …’ she says, with no idea how to end the sentence.

‘I mean – am I right, here?’ he says, speaking in that way that he always has. Joe says he talks like he’s watched too many sitcoms.

‘I …’ Cathy says. She’s had the entire operation to think, except she hasn’t, can’t multitask in that way, not when a life is at stake. Immediately, she thinks of resuscitating Will, of how fucking hard she tried, of the position she’s been put in. And where is fucking Frannie when it all falls apart?

‘It’s nothing,’ Cathy says lamely. ‘We were just watching the news.’

‘Cathy,’ Evan says. ‘Do you think I am an idiot?’

Cathy’s eyes fill with tears. She gets angry, trying to blink them away, betrayed by her body and her heart. She can’t do it, can’t deny it. It’s like saying black is white. Evan is too smart for this.

‘You were talking about … that man,’ he says. ‘And now you’re crying.’

Joe turns to face her and gives her a nod, a silent, tiny nod. They’ve got no choice, that nod says. It’s too late. Time has run out. It’s better to switch to damage control than it is to lie and to increase suspicion.