I’m sitting at the large wooden table on the patio, a Pimm’s in my hand. My face is turned up towards the sun, eyes closed as I relish the warmth on my skin. Davina sits opposite me. A big, floppy sunhat covers her face, but I know she’s smiling. At last she’s found peace, and friends. Wayne hasn’t bothered her since the night she told me what he’d been doing. He and the developers seem to have gone underground – for now, at least. Carl Anderson unsurprisingly moved to a new house – he and his wife now live in an unknown location, but I note his estate agency is still in business. Miss Emery, who did return to her teaching position after a period of sickness, told me how he’d given her money in exchange for her silence. She wasn’t proud of herself for taking it. I was in no position to judge her.

Barbecue smoke wafts on the soft breeze. Richard is standing, sporting an apron and armed with tongs, flipping burgers and turning sausages. His face is ruddy with the heat, but relaxed – his smile wide. He’s enjoying being part of a family again. He’s happy being Richard Lock. To him, and everyone else assembled here, Tim Miller no longer exists. Time will tell if I can forgive him fully for his deceit or think of him as my boyfriend again, but things are moving in the right direction. Time supposedly heals all wounds in the end.

Squeals from the boys bouncing on the trampoline fill the humid air.

The garden isn’t as long anymore, so the sounds are louder – closer.

I’m glad. I need my boys close to me.

The shed has been demolished; the top end of the garden laid to concrete. We’d never put that part of the garden to full use – it was boggy anyway, so better to make it solid.

Better to know the bodies are six feet under the ground with a thick covering of cement lying on top. It’s not in any way ideal – but now it’s separate, cordoned off, I can pretend it’s not a problem. Most of the time.

‘Anyone for another drink?’ Barb asks as she steps out from the kitchen to join us on the patio.

‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say. ‘Come and sit down, Barb – you must be exhausted.’

‘I just want it all to be perfect,’ Barb says. She’s flustered. Not as relaxed as the rest of us. She’s been on tenterhooks all day.

‘It will be,’ I say, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘He’ll be all right.’