‘Would I shovel soil on a human being?’ Evan says.

‘There’s no one you’d do it for?’ Cathy asks tentatively, knowing exactly who he would do it for. The same person he works a second job for. The same person he pays child maintenance for.

He drops his eyes to the floor, evidently thinking. ‘God,’ he says, maybe finally comprehending it.

Evan leaves shortly after that. Joe too leaves her alone with her work, the way it’s always been.

The urge to end it strikes her, as she checks on the post-op Frenchie. To end it in the easiest, simplest way, before it ends them: for the person with the least to lose to take it on the chin.

She could confess, say it was her. Take the blame for her sister.

She’d lose Tom, but what even is that? A stupid fling.

After all, Cathy thinks, in the dark of the practice at night, another life saved, what difference does it make? It would be the punishment Cathy ought to have received twenty years ago. If she came out and said that it was her, then this whole thing would be over, without her having lost anything at all. Not really. Not compared to everybody else.

45.

Lydia

Lydia finds the photo she took of the call Joe received and dials the number. She is at work, where she knows she won’t be disturbed. It’s an Italian number, and she recognizes immediately the international flat dialling tone. She almost hangs up, there on her lunch hour in one of the back meeting rooms at the law firm, losing her nerve, not wanting to know, but she doesn’t.

‘I’m Joe’s wife,’ she says simply to the woman who answers. It’s a technique she’s seen the lawyers use here at work: play a straight bat but provide as little information as possible. People usually fill in the gaps with their assumptions.

‘Oh, hi,’ the woman says to Lydia. Lydia doesn’t recognize her voice. Her palms are hot and slick with sweat, not only at what she might find out but because of the invasion of it. Joe will sometimes wave a hand rather than explain his siblings’ in-jokes. Almost like he’s decided she can’t possibly understand. ‘I spoke to Joe the other night,’ the woman adds.

‘Yes …’ Lydia says. ‘And you’re in Verona?’

‘That’s right.’ A puzzled note enters the woman’s voice. A pause while she waits for an explanation, which Lydia is supposed to provide.

‘I just wondered – sorry – but would you mind filling me in on what you discussed?’ Lydia says. Affairs circle in her mind. And the lies people tell to cover them up.

‘He was asking about the location of the new development – near the villa,’ the woman says. Lydia’s chest feels alive with relief, like a dam somewhere has burst and allowed only good feelings to rush in.

‘Oh, yes, he said about this – so sorry,’ Lydia says. ‘I was trying to find somebody else.’