Desperate for a shower, but aware that would wake everyone, Louisa undressed downstairs and bundled Tiff’s clothes into the washing machine. She quickly pulled a nightie over her head and made her way up the stairs. A gentle snoring greeted her as she reached the top stair. She sneaked inside her room, gently pulling open the drawer beneath the bed. She listened for movement from Brian, but he was dead to the world. One less worry. Louisa took out the mobile phone that lay next to the photos of her at college. The light glowed as she pressed the button to bring up the texts. The battery icon flashed – it was going to run out soon. That was good. But she had to delete the message dated the day of Tiff’s death first.

You’d better have a fucking good explanation. I know you’ve lied to me – you and Brian disgust me. You’re meant to be my best friend, but I’d be better off without you. I’m coming over now. Be there. Be ready for the repercussions.

She pressed delete, but before replacing the phone in the drawer alongside the packet of photos – her lost memories – she used the glow from the screen to illuminate the top photo. Oliver and her. She flipped it over and read what she’d written.

Don’t trust Oliver.

She’d been right to be wary.

A shiver ran the length of her back when she saw the words she’d scrawled beneath that. Ones she didn’t remember writing:

Don’t trust yourself.

She quickly replaced the packet and slid the drawer closed, and then crept back out of the bedroom. Emily’s door was shut, no light showing beneath it as she passed. She tiptoed into Noah’s nursery and took a seat in the chair. Noah’s soft puffs of breath relaxed her.

She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she?

As she thought about Tiff’s upcoming funeral, her eyelids fluttered closed.

I’m under water – box three ahead of me now.

I swim to it, and after several heaves, more than it’s taken to open the first two, the lid opens …

This box contains the newest lost memories, those I’ve only just secured in a separate compartment, there to be buried along with the others that might harm me:

I’m walking up the side of Tiff’s house. There’s a fogginess in my head, one that is getting denser as I think about her with Brian. They’ve been talking about me since Noah’s birth. That’s bad enough.

But it’s what happened before that, that bothers me.

How could she do it to me?

She lied to my face.

It’s not all she’s lied about.

There she is, standing in her immaculate kitchen, her back to me.

She knows I’m coming, but she hasn’t heard me – her attention is elsewhere.