“Aye, that too.”

“Carrie’s not coming back tonight?” Ben asks. I shake my head. “You shouldn’t be here alone,” he says, with sudden authority. He means to railroad me again; I can feel it. He will suggest he stays here too, or that I stay at his. “Don’t try and be a hero about it. Better to be safe than sorry. I’ve a perfectly decent spare room.”

“Wait a minute, I thought I’d just bagged the spare room,” argues Ali, through a yawn.

“You can have the sofa,” Ben tosses back.

“He can have the spare room. I’m not staying.” They both start to argue, but I speak over them. “I’m not trying to be a hero, honestly. I just think . . .” What do I think? Do I really think either of these men mean me harm? I look at them both as if I can see their intentions on their faces, but there’s nothing but tiredness on Ali’s. And Ben is once again giving nothing away. “I don’t think I should leave. If someone is trying to scare me out, they should see that it’s not working.” If I let myself leave now, I might never return—especially if it’s all in my mind. I can’t allow myself to be chased out of here. The decision shouldn’t be tied up with Carrie, but somehow it is—it would feel like giving up at the first hurdle. On both Carrie and the Manse. “Anyway, if the pair of you are leaving your cars outside overnight, surely that will deter any harassment.”

They look at each other again. “I suppose,” concedes Ben. He glances at his watch. “Don’t you need to check on your mum, though?” he asks Ali.

“Nah, my brother or Holly are checking in on her tonight.”

Presumably she’s on her own too, since Ali’s father upped and offed to continental Europe. It’s odd to think that we have something in common, Ali and I: we both grew up without a paternal presence. I reach for the photo of that immortalized dinner party that hasn’t yet left the kitchen. “Is this your mum?” I’m pointing to a small but curvy woman with a smile on her face who’s standing next to Ali’s dad. Even though I’m looking for similarities, I can’t see how she turned into the shriveled old woman, with her spiteful pinched mouth, that I encountered in the hotel.

Ali takes it and squints slightly. “Aye. And my dad. Was that taken here, aye? God, she looks young then.” There’s a sadness around his eyes, and concern in Ben’s as he looks at Ali.

“Funny to think our parents all knew one another, and here we are, having a drink together,” I muse.