I thought of all the times he could’ve let us go. All the times he could’ve turned a key and opened a door. All the times he could’ve saved us.

But he never did.

I put both my thumbs to the pistol’s hammer and I pulled it back, just the way I’d seen him do it. It was awful hard to do, but I managed, and it clicked as it locked into place.

He breathed in and out, just the once.

I pulled the trigger.

43: Sara

43: Sara

When Sara arrived at the care home, Margaret at reception told her Mary was waiting for her. She let her gaze linger too long on the dirt on Sara’s jeans and sleeves.

“I was gardening,” Sara said.

Margaret gave a forced smile and said, “Mary’s up in her room. You’ll just need to show me some ID when you sign her out, all right?”

“Oh, sorry, I think I left my driving licence at home,” Sara said, the lie coming as easy as a breath.

Margaret waved the matter away. “Och, sure, we know who you are.”

Sara thanked her and climbed the stairs. She found Mary in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed, with plain and stout shoes on her feet.

“Is it today?” Mary asked.

Sara couldn’t keep the smile from her mouth, in spite of it all. “Yes, it’s today,” she said. “I have the car outside.”

On the way out, as Sara signed the book, Mary lifted two apples and two bananas from the fruit bowl on the reception desk. Then Mary gave Margaret a long hug.

“You have a good day,” Margaret said.

“I will, don’t you worry,” Mary said, stuffing the fruit into the pockets of her cardigan as she walked with Sara to the door.

In the car, while Mary hummed to herself, Sara spent several minutes figuring out the BMW’s navigation system, and eventually she had a route to a car park overlooking one of Portrush’s two beaches. A little over ninety minutes to get there, according to the satnav. Sara hoped that would be enough time. She knew the police would be searching for her, and for Damien’s car. Please let there be enough time, she thought, a quiet prayer to no one.

On the journey, Mary talked about her days in the care home, how the staff were awful good to her, their names, what food they gave her. She talked about the cats she used to have out at The Ashes, six of them before the fire, all of them strays that she had adopted. And the chickens she kept, five hens and a rooster, and all the ways she knew how to cook an egg on the old wood-fired stove.