“No, sure I’ll drop you at the door,” Tony said. “That’ll be easier than trying to turn in the lane. I’d wind up in the river if I wasn’t careful.”

She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t admit the reason she didn’t want him to bring her to the house. Not even to herself.

“You know,” Tony said, “my granda used to collect local newspapers. The Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph, some of the smaller ones too. We found stacks of them after he died and we had to clear his house. There’s still a load of them in my mother’s attic. I could look and see if there’s any from around the time of the killings.”

Sara wondered if she truly wanted to know more. She already knew she would not sleep tonight; she hadn’t slept since they’d moved in, not properly, and she doubted she ever would find rest in that house. As Tony turned the van into the lane that ran alongside the river, leading to the house, she imagined telling Damien she wanted them to sell the place and move.

Walking on graves, she thought. The second time that day the idea had come to her mind, again unbidden. The van grew cold around her.

“Should I?” Tony asked.

Sara shivered and said, “Sorry?”

“Dig out those old papers,” Tony said, steering between the gateposts, onto the drive, through the ash trees with their thinning leaves.

Damien waited on the doorstep, watching them approach.

“I asked you,” she said. “You didn’t offer.”

“What?”

“Tell him I asked you to take me into the village. You didn’t offer to take me.”

She saw Tony from the corner of her eye, turning to look at her, and she knew she had revealed too much of herself. Too much of her marriage. More than she wanted to admit to herself. Shame withered her.

As the van halted, Damien walked towards it, his right hand outstretched. He grabbed the passenger door handle, yanked it, but the door did not open. Sara saw the anger in his eyes. He gritted his teeth and pulled the handle once more, and again, making the van rock on its suspension.

“Hang on,” Tony called, turning the ignition off. When the engine died, he pulled the key out, and the locks clunked.

Damien opened the door and reached for Sara. “Come on,” he said, the smooth calm of his voice sparking fear in her.

“Wait,” she said, grappling with the seat belt.

Damien gripped her upper arm and dug his fingers into her flesh. A warning.

“Here,” Tony said, releasing the seat belt’s clasp.