I click on the trashiest article I can find, from The Sun in the UK. I wade through the scum that sinks to the bottom of the article, the comments section. I see what Cain means. They’ve found out he served in the military, that he was scheduled to give evidence into the unlawful killings in Afghanistan when Skelton died; they know I’m a paramedic. Some think the entire thing was staged, some calling it a ‘false flag’. A conspiracy theorist ironically believes it was all faked to help the ‘NWO’ enhance surveillance powers on the internet. Another comment reads: Who would install cameras inside a WeStay anyway? Maybe this guy that turned up with a shotgun had stayed there, found the cameras THAT THE OWNERS INSTALLED and discovered what these perverts were doing. I’m not saying what he did was right, violence is never the answer, but it smells fishy if you ask me and there is DEFINITELY more to this story. If they did install the cameras to spy on their guests they’re sick and they deserve to go to jail themselves.

I close the browser. ‘It’ll pass,’ I say to him, unsure of how long that will actually take.

‘Someone is feeding them,’ he says. ‘And the only good that could have come from the footage is it should have settled the discussion about a second man. But instead it’s just sparked a whole bunch of new conspiracy theories.’

I grab his hand now and place it on my belly. ‘Just remember we’ve got this to look forward to. Soon, when the baby comes, we can start looking at moving. We can leave all this drama behind and go off grid for a while. Just the three of us.’

‘You still want to move to that house, after everything?’

Maybe not. Who knows what emotions will well up when we go back there. ‘Let’s wait and see.’

Cain goes outside to his punching bag. I can hear him all afternoon beating it to within an inch of its life.

•

That night when Cain goes to get groceries, I find Scotty’s number in my phone and step into Cain’s study. I’ve still not heard from him and, after all these years, I feel oddly insecure about how our working relationship abruptly ended. I despise the feeling that someone dislikes me so much; I should ignore it and move on but I can’t.

‘Lina,’ he says. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Hi Scotty,’ I say, keeping my voice light. ‘I’m just calling because my last couple of shifts were with someone new and I wanted to ask why.’

‘Because I asked to be moved,’ he says, his voice uncharacteristically flat. The room seems to heat five degrees.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I figured that might be the case, but it seems odd all these years working together. You know I had to ask about the drugs, Scotty.’