The police investigation is ongoing. The rumors don’t die down and every time an article or someone’s comment sails close to the truth, it strengthens my resolve that I will not pay for Camilla’s—or Nina’s—mistakes any longer. I hide the camera in the top of Camilla’s wardrobe, beneath some scarves I’ve never seen her wear.

As I go downstairs, removing my new gloves (paid for in cash and which I will dispose of), I nearly trip down the last two stairs in shock when Louise’s bedroom door opens.

“Louise! Why aren’t you at school?”

“I thought you were my mum! Please don’t tell her.”

She doesn’t ask what I am doing in her home. Full of tears, she is desperate to share how she hates her new school, is being bullied, how Camilla doesn’t want to hear it.

“I want to live with my grandparents, but they say that they’re too old to have me living there full time.”

I hug her and promise that I’m going to make everything all right. I’m going to fix this. I often hear Christian’s voice in my head: Control the things you can.

I’m invited to rejoin the book group, and there’s no choice but to return because everything I do or say has to be about behaving normally. I walk into Tamsin’s living room and scan the faces. Miriam, Abigail, Sharon, Camilla, they are all there. I genuinely half expect to see Greg. It’s weird how quickly I’ve adapted and managed to convince myself that he’s alive and well.

I think, not seeing him there, that’s when everything really hits me.

Afterward, we both walk home together. She has forgotten to bring a flashlight and her phone battery is low, so I light the way with mine. She collects Louise from our place and I walk them both back to the cottage. As she opens the door, I rummage inside my bag and hand her the photo album I’ve created especially for her.

“A gift,” I say.

“What for?”

I say goodbye to Louise and wait until she is well inside the cottage before I reply.

“A little reminder,” I say. “Pay particular attention to the first photo. It’s the last one ever taken of Charlie. Physical proof that you lied about leaving him at the party, along with the confession you made to me which I recorded.” (It’s very bad quality, but I don’t need to mention that.) “All the little things add up.”

She is silent.

“I’ve always had this little theory that the purest photos, the truth, if you like, are taken near the end of any event,” I say.

“This is all very unnecessary,” she eventually says.

“Maybe,” I say. “But you can’t blame me for having an insurance policy. I must think of my family. I know if it ever comes up, you’ll try to pin all the blame on Nina because she’s not here to defend herself. I also know that you’ll try to pin Greg on me, too, if it ever comes to it. Yet it seems you’re the one with a history of violence, not me. It wouldn’t look good for any potential future defense of yours if you were also being investigated for an earlier murder. You would be the common factor, the link between the two. Not Nina. Not me.”