After he’d gone, Emma had cried on her mum’s shoulder and Julie had tentatively suggested that maybe Robin was a different person now. But Emma wouldn’t be fooled again. He’d taken her son and he was sending her messages: that she was in need of a parenting book; that she could be unraveled by some heavy breathing down a phone, or a raw egg that was surely supposed to remind her of the ectoplasm. Just as easily unraveled as when she was fifteen.

She put down the school photo, blinking back tears. Her eyes were tugged again to the address Steph had given her, and guilt crashed over her for sitting on it, not doing anything.

After I’ve spoken to Zeb, she promised, her stomach a ball of nerves.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up outside diverted her. She returned to the window, where dawn was rolling back the night and George was climbing out of a police car. Emma frowned as she noticed his face, drawn and somber. Maybe he was just exhausted, maybe he’d been up all night, too, but something about his demeanor made hairs rise on her arms.

She watched him straighten his posture and step up to the house. Heard the buzzer trill in the flat above, the beep of the exterior door being released, George’s heavy tread on the stairs. Moments later, a terrible sound came from overhead. It pierced down through the ceiling, tearing across the memory of everything she’d ever heard from upstairs before.

It felt like more than just a cry: It seemed to have its own color, even a texture, dark and raw.

It was Steph, howling as if her heart was broken.

All the air left Emma’s lungs and her arms lifted toward the ceiling, as though to catch her neighbor if she fell.

PART THREE

39.

KATE

Twenty-five years earlier

I slide the receiver back into its cradle. The hall floorboards feel icy under my bare toes. The dawn light picks out a furring of dust on the mirror, and the ticking clock sounds like someone clucking their tongue, a steady beat of disapproval.

There’s a pad of footsteps and Becca appears, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it? Was that the phone?” At the sight of my face, her hands drop. “Has something happened?”

“That was Mum.”

She jerks her head.

“Nick’s in hospital.” My words and mouth feel disconnected. “He’s in a coma.”

Becca stares. Her lips purse like she’s going to say What? or perhaps Why? But nothing comes out.