She doesn’t call back. Instead she sits on a swing in Angie’s play park at Ferry Meadows and eats her packed lunch. Her feet scuff the woodchip floor intermittently. She can’t face visiting Nan today, even though she is so close by. She is still reeling from the revelations of last night. She can’t be Chloe for Nan today – not when she’s Angie for the Kyles.

She closes her eyes, pushes herself back on the swing in her office shoes. It still doesn’t feel real. She opens her eyes, hoping the world might be clearer, that one definite memory might make itself apparent if only she blinks and tries again. But today everything feels a blur, as if she’s drowning, as if she’s clamouring to stay afloat, as if nothing she tries to hold on to is real.

Her feet skid on the ground and she gets up from the swing, throwing away the last of her packed lunch. It’s almost time to return to Low Drove.

On the bus home she gets out her phone – another missed call from Park House, one more from Claire Sanders. She reaches up to her breast pocket and pulls out the photograph of Nan and Stella. It’s been weeks since she’s looked at it. Those faces feel like another lifetime now. She’s thought about replacing it with a photograph of Maureen, Patrick and Angie, that nice one of the three of them on Hunstanton beach perhaps, but then she remembers Patrick in the background, that looming shadow of him. No, she’s sure she can find a better one. She replaces the photograph of Nan and Stella back in her pocket for now.

She rings the bell on the bus and gets off at her stop at Low Drove. Her stop. Even after all this time, she’s never seen anyone else alight here. She makes her way through the willow and down the lane towards Elm House. Patrick’s blue car is in the drive as usual. As she approaches it, she peers through the window to see if the gun is still lying across the back seat, but it has gone. Like much that happens at Elm House, she feels she might have imagined it.

Maureen greets her at the short garden gate beside the pebble drive. Chloe has the feeling she’s been waiting for a long time. Her face lights up on spotting Chloe.

‘I was beginning to get a bit worried about you, Chloe, love,’ Maureen says. ‘You’re usually back by quarter to six.’

Chloe glances at her watch. It is eight minutes to six.

‘Anyway, you’re here now. Come inside, I’ve got your favourite for tea.’

Inside the kitchen, the windows are steamy, and on top of the counter are three plates colourful with food. Patrick sits at the kitchen table.