I take the book out of my bag first, rolling it up and pushing it into one of the vases. Next, I take the glass bird and place it in the palm of my hand. It looks smaller somehow. Its eyes have lost their sparkle.

‘Goodnight, Geoffrey,’ I whisper as I slip the bird into the second vase. ‘I’m sorry for what I did.’

Sitting on the train as it approaches Wimbledon, I feel like a great burden has been lifted from me. As the train pulls into the station, I stand up and head for the door, enjoying the feeling. I press the button and step out into glorious August sunshine. I’ll stop off at Waitrose on the way back and buy some food for supper. Georgie and Jack have been so good to me, it’s about time I gave something back.

I exit the turnstiles and I’m just heading for the high street when my phone beeps in my hand. As always, I get a little flutter of hope that it might be Lottie, but as I stop by the pizza restaurant on the corner of the street I see that it’s a Messenger notification from someone called G.

I can’t quite make out the profile picture in the glare of the sun, but I’m sure that I don’t have a Facebook contact called G. I’m rather cautious about adding people I don’t know. Curious, I click open the message and what I see makes my heart freeze.

There is a photograph, clear and seemingly taken up close, of me placing the glass bird on Iris’s grave.

But it’s the message underneath that sends chills down my spine.

Found you.

I almost drop my phone in fright. I want to delete the message but I need to see who the person is. I click on their name and a Facebook profile comes up. G has no ‘friends’ and has shared no posts. The only photo is that of his/her profile image which, now that I’m standing in the shade, I can see clearly. My heart twists inside my chest as I enlarge the photo and see, looking back at me with vacant, open eyes, the dead face of Geoffrey Rivers.

14. Then

March 2018