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Chapters (134)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY J.S. MONROE
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. One week earlier
  9. 1
  10. Friday
  11. 2
  12. Saturday
  13. 3
  14. 4
  15. 5
  16. 6
  17. 7
  18. 8
  19. 9
  20. 10
  21. 11
  22. 12
  23. 13
  24. 14
  25. 15
  26. 16
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. Sunday
  33. 22
  34. 23
  35. 24
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. 29
  41. 30
  42. 31
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. 47
  59. 48
  60. 49
  61. Monday
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. 57
  70. 58
  71. 59
  72. 60
  73. 61
  74. 62
  75. 63
  76. 64
  77. 65
  78. 66
  79. 67
  80. 68
  81. 69
  82. 70
  83. 71
  84. 72
  85. 73
  86. 74
  87. 75
  88. 76
  89. 77
  90. Tuesday
  91. 78
  92. 79
  93. 80
  94. 81
  95. 82
  96. 83
  97. 84
  98. 85
  99. 86
  100. 87
  101. 88
  102. 89
  103. 90
  104. 91
  105. 92
  106. 93
  107. 94
  108. 95
  109. 96
  110. 97
  111. 98
  112. 99
  113. 100
  114. 101
  115. 102
  116. 103
  117. 104
  118. 105
  119. 106
  120. 107
  121. 108
  122. 109
  123. 110
  124. 111
  125. One week later
  126. 112
  127. 113
  128. 114
  129. 115
  130. One month later
  131. 116
  132. Acknowledgements
  133. About the author
  134. An Invitation from the Publisher

‘We’ll try to sort things out,’ Silas continues, eyes locked on Conor’s across the long grass. ‘Maybe get some counselling. I promise.’

64

Kate

Rob was being a little disingenuous when he said there were a few things in the fridge for supper. Like he’d said there were a few clothes in the bedroom wardrobe. Kate’s just finished an exquisite crayfish salad, moist and meaty. He knows it’s her favourite seafood. Readymade, of course. Rob is a hopeless cook, buys all his meals from a high-end delivery service. There was a bottle of Sancerre too and she treated herself to a glass. What the hell. She’s not meant to drink, but tonight feels different, as if she’s turned a corner.

Ajay couldn’t stay long, but they talked some more about Capgras and he didn’t rule out that Kate might be suffering from it. In fact, the more they chatted, the more he seemed to entertain the possibility, particularly once they’d worked out that she only ever thinks Rob’s a double when he’s to her left. Weird. The whole auditory cortex thing also fits with her experience of talking to Rob on the phone and feeling fine. Ajay gave her a coping strategy too: if she should find herself again thinking that Rob is a double, she should close her eyes and listen to Rob’s voice. It might encourage the brain to re-establish the neural pathways that link his face to the person she knows.

After Ajay left, telling her that she could call him any time of day or night, she went up to the terrace and did some sketches, inspired by the sight of her work on the walls downstairs, and for once the pencil flowed and she’s reasonably happy with the results. Big harsh skylines, void of all people. If she starts to paint portraits again, she wants the landscape to be more prominent, to interact more with her subject, hint at the insignificance of humankind. She also keeps thinking about the man she spotted in the station shelter. DI Hart sent her a text earlier, confirming it was his son and that he’d met up with him. He just wanted to say thanks – and to congratulate her on her ‘dirty field spot’. The old skills are definitely back.

Her only problem is Jake. He’s been trying to call her all evening and she hasn’t answered. She will always love Jake, but they’ve both moved on. She doesn’t want him to think there’s any chance they might get back together again. It’s not fair on him. He’s been texting her too, but she hasn’t read any of his messages and she’s now turned her phone off. Rob called again on the landline a few minutes ago, confirming that he’ll be back by 11 p.m.