Ford stood and left the room. Chris turned to Ms. Beaumont for reassurance, but an M-shaped frown creased her forehead. He rocked back in his chair, feeling its legs bow beneath him. Finally Ford returned, brandishing a second iPad and moving with new purpose as she retook her seat.

“The team has finished going through Freya’s iCloud storage,” she said, and Chris felt the drop of his stomach, the clean slide of a dreaded but inevitable outcome.

Of course she’d have backed up her photos to the cloud. Sometimes it felt like nothing could be contained anymore. Secrets floated in cyberspace, beyond your own reach and control. He thought of Vicky cutting out pictures from a magazine, or touching the bracelet on her wrist as if to check it was real. Was she trying to make things tangible? Trying to keep control, one ownable item at a time?

Chris looked at the photo on the iPad. It was hard to believe that its collection of sad-looking bric-a-brac spilling from a glove box had embroiled him in this.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Ford said, “this is the inside of your car.”

47.

KATE

Twenty-five years earlier

We leave in darkness on Monday, the first bus of the day rumbling us through traffic-free streets. Mum is dry-eyed and distant. I have to nudge her alert when we get to the station, then guide us to the right platform, focusing on practical things until we’re on the train and my blood starts to hiss in my ears.

Daylight leaks into the sky as the train rushes through a spectrum of colors, ink to pale amber to blue. My black dress crumples beneath my thighs. Mum fiddles with the armrest, flipping it up and down, and checks her watch and rubs her eyes and, as we chug into Basingstoke, clasps my hand with all the dread I’m trying not to show.

My heart turns over when she tells me we’re heading to Nick’s brother’s house first. We’ve been invited to travel in the proper funeral car with his family. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Mum was his girlfriend after all, but I still feel like we’re outsiders.

We freeze in unison as we step out of the taxi. The man striding to greet us is so much like Nick. He moves like him; he has the same eyebrows and mouth. When he introduces himself as Richard his voice is similar too. It’s like shaking hands with a ghost.