Realizing that this will take me weeks, I skip to the last diaries. It’s compelling and fascinating, this insight into Nina’s mind. I justify this by telling myself that I may find useful things that will help with Felix and Emily. There’s a lot of mother-guilt: deep, unsettling, contradictory emotions, the remorseful kind.

In the months leading up to her death, Nina rewrote parts of her old diaries. She’s named the rewriting process Hindsight. It’s fascinating, as I flick back and forth through the befores and afters, the different viewpoints, I read faster as if to trying reach the end of a book.

I’m back in Ibiza. Naturally, Charlie’s disappearance and death clouds the end. Except, it’s more than that. Another chapter has been inserted. I know I should stop reading, that if I continue, something big will shift, but I can’t. I open my eyes wider, read faster. Nina’s voice from the grave is dominant, she is back here with me.

Original: Spending time at the villa, it was almost like Stuart and his friends hadn’t left. Dan said we could use his villa during the daytime. After lunch, I lay on the tube, my feet dangling over the edge in the pool. Bliss. I’m so going to be rich! But now, lying on the sun lounger, I feel restless. If Stuart was here, we’d be having a cheeky so-called siesta or heading out on his friend’s boat. Perhaps I’ll take the key...ha ha. I am good at handling it. Stuart said I am a natural, said I hardly need any lessons.

Hindsight: Reading these words makes me want to cry. I want to go back and stop my younger self at this point. We were living the dream, until we weren’t.

Why? I remember that day. I was glad Stuart had gone because it had meant that I could bend Nina’s ear about my concerns regarding Charlie and Camilla.

We did take the key to the boat. Well, Nina did, but the rest of us encouraged her. We went out a lot with Stuart and his friends; we’d hang out with others who owned boats or yachts, too, jumping off the edge every now and then to cool off. Sipping sundowners. Snacking on olives and bread. Drinking beer straight from the ice, condensation dripping down the edge of the cans.

We packed the cooler, promising out loud that we’d replenish what we borrowed. But before we reached the jetty, loud music beckoned. There was a party at a nearby bar. The DJ was out on a platform on the beach and had already drawn in quite a crowd.

We dumped the supplies on the boat, Nina removed her heels from her small backpack and swapped them with her trainers. I untied my hair so that it hung loose rather than wearing it scraped back in a ponytail, the three of us put on some lipstick, and then, with those minor party preparations complete, we went to join in.