Scott took out his phone and swiped to a photo of Natalie. She was standing at the railing of the promenade in Weston, a big smile on her face and the sun at her back. He showed Tess the photo.

“Yes, that’s definitely her.”

“The one who shouted at you?”

“Gracious, no. That was the other one. I saw her quite often. She’d even visit the park by herself sometimes.”

“Okay, thank you.” Scott swiped his phone, moving to the photo of Casey. This one was even more painful. He’d taken it a few months after their wedding, at a restaurant, Casey wearing a form-hugging black dress and a loving expression. “What about her? Was this the woman who shouted at you?”

Scott’s heart was hurting in his chest. He waited as Tess made um and ah noises, as though sorting through memories.

“I’m not sure,” she finally said. “It was dark. I can’t remember. It was cold. She was wearing a hat. I think she was wearing a hat, anyway.”

Scott swiped through his phone, finding a photo he’d taken of Casey during winter. It had snowed lightly in Bristol and there was a dusting of it in the park behind her. She’d looked so cute, so adorable, so harmless bundled up in her winter gear.

“Here you go.” He showed Tess his phone.

Her eyes glazed and she began shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

“Please. Try.”

“I am trying. But lately… I’m not sure, S-Sam. I don’t know.”

Scott swallowed. Her tone was becoming taut. It must be a terrible thing, to have your memory fade away, and worse still to be conscious of the fading.

Scott held the phone in front of her face, unwilling to move it. Something might click in her mind.

“Nothing?” Scott asked.

“It could have been her. I honestly don’t know. Oh, God. Tell me something, how can I remember all the lyrics to ‘This Little Light of Mine’ but not what I had for breakfast?”

Scott didn’t move the phone. She was still studying it, as though she’d taken it as a challenge.

She shook her head. “It could be. It mightn’t be. I honestly can’t say.”

“Maybe if I–”

“Nan?”

Scott turned as a man jogged up the lane. He was a head taller than Scott, wide, with the paint-flecked clothes and the solid-looking body of a manual labourer.

“What’s this? You’re not giving out your bank details again?”

“Oh, stop fussing. It’s nothing like that. S-S… this young man wanted my help. You know I never forget a face.”

The man eyed Scott. “You need to be careful answering the door to strangers.”

She waved a hand. “Always fussing.”

“Are you ready?” the man asked.

Tess tilted her head. “Ready?”

“Bingo, remember. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

“Oh, bingo! That’s right. Give me a minute, dear.”

“All right.”

Before Scott could protest, Tess shut the door in his face. The grandson stared down at Scott. He was in his early twenties, Scott guessed, with a skin-fade haircut and a shadow of hair around his jaws.