Emil didn’t rush his words. He was almost lingering on every statement, like it was a blade over flesh and he was waiting for the beads of blood to appear.

Bell felt sick. This was sick. Max looked wretched, every muscle in his body tensed and braced as his eyes slid between Emil and Hanna, settling on her.

‘Max, it’s not what you think!’ Hanna cried as Max stared at her with a broken look, his breathing coming heavily as he struggled to stay calm.

‘Of course it was,’ Emil cut in with cruel insouciance. ‘She was very concerned about me, Max; I was amazed, actually, at just how concerned she was. She kept checking on me, making sure I was okay.’ He picked up her hand and squeezed it again. ‘All through the night, and all over the weekend – she scarcely left my side.’ He smiled cruelly at Max. ‘Naturally, I assumed it was because she loved me.’

Bell felt her ears prick at the implied contradiction. Huh?

Hanna heard it too, growing even paler than she already was. If that was possible. ‘Emil, please, now’s not the time—’

But Emil was too quick for them both, always one step ahead. He regarded Hanna again with that look, the one Bell couldn’t place. ‘There is no other time, Hanna. We are all gathered here, together, for the first time in almost eight years. A lot has changed.’ He cast a sardonic wave around the table. ‘Clearly we need to talk.’

‘But the children –’

‘Are not here.’ He jerked his chin towards the girls still bouncing on the inflatable castle.

She fell back, staring sightlessly at the flower bowl, but he reached for her hand again. ‘This was what you wanted, surely? For me to say for you what you can’t. I know you feel torn, but we can’t avoid this. Someone has to get hurt. Someone already has been hurt. For seven years, that someone was me, lying in a hospital bed.’ He paused, waiting for her to meet his eyes. Eventually she did, nodding slowly. ‘I was critically hurt, Hanna. More dead than alive.’

A tear slid down Hanna’s cheek. ‘Please, stop . . .’ She looked away.

‘You hurt me, Hanna –’

Her face whipped back to him, her eyes black with panic.

‘– You and him. Before the car ever hit me.’

Bell swallowed, still not keeping up. What?

‘I didn’t remember it,’ he said quietly, as though he was talking to a child. ‘And the people who love me – I mean, really love me – they thought it was a kindness not to remind me, because they believe in second chances and loyalty. Because they’re discreet –’

Bell looked up at the word to find Nina already looking across at her.

‘– And perhaps I never would have thought to ask the question, but those who know me well have always been able to . . . guide me, even when I haven’t wanted it.’