She raises her eyebrows. “You mean that frightened little girl who pushed my baby sister in front of a train? No, you’re not her anymore. You’re all grown up now, aren’t you, Lizzie? But you’re still a liar. And you’re still a murderer.”

Her words expand in the room. She takes a step toward me. My heart thuds in my neck, my ears, but I stand my ground.

“What do you hope to achieve by this? It won’t bring Alice back.” I sound a whole lot braver than I feel.

She regards me with distaste, as if I am something unpleasant she is forced to look at. Her top lip curls. “What really happened that day, Lizzie?”

“I can’t remember. You know I can’t remember. You’re a nurse, for Christ’s sake! You know about epilepsy. Why are you doing this to me?”

“But you do remember having an argument, don’t you? You mentioned it to Ross.”

I close my eyes. It was that conversation I had with him after he found Catherine’s flowers in the bin and we started talking about the accident. I blurted it out. He didn’t seem to take any notice at the time, so I stopped worrying and forgot all about it. But he must have picked up on it. He must have fed the information straight back to her.

The thought of the two of them together, plotting against me, brings on a fresh wave of pain and sadness. That’s what’s been happening this whole time: He’s been studying me, waiting for me to slip up. And yet, I’m sure it wasn’t all pretense. It can’t have been.

Catherine leans in toward me, her face so close to mine I can smell the coffee on her breath. “What were you arguing about? What didn’t you tell the police?” Her voice is pure acid.

My breath judders in my chest.

Her jaw hardens. “Was it the same argument you had after the disco? The one where you said you wished she was dead?”

I stare at her in disbelief. The silence between us is solid. Oppressive. How does she know about that? She wasn’t there.

Catherine juts her chin at me. “Just because you saw me slap her that time, it doesn’t mean she didn’t love me. It doesn’t mean she didn’t confide in me when she was unhappy. I was like a mother to her.”

The corners of her mouth turn down into a sneer. “You’ve lied about your seizures before, haven’t you? Used them to get out of things you couldn’t face. Like that school trip you didn’t want to go on.”

Heat floods into my cheeks. “That was just the one time. I did it for Alice. It was Alice who didn’t want to go.”