‘I like your dress.’ My words were almost drowned out by the noise of the downpour on the tiled roof as I gazed at her, her dress translucent where the rain had caught it.

She didn’t reply. Instead, I watched her eyes drift across the churchyard. ‘You can feel them, can’t you?’ she asked, her arms tightly hugging herself. I could tell from the way she spoke she was talking about the souls of the dead.

I nodded, imagining the heartbreak of their families lingering in the air, wondering if after enough time had passed, the rain washed it away.

‘I always think about all the people who’ve come here … The christenings, weddings, funerals …’ Her words echoed through the church as she fell silent. ‘My mum died when I was eight. I wasn’t allowed to go to hers.’ Her voice was small, choked with tears.

I thought of my father, spending another Sunday in a fug of red wine and temper, how my mother was never happy, how nothing changed. The crash of thunder overhead startled me, and without thinking, my hand reached for hers.

‘They say she killed herself.’ Her eyes were blank as she stared outside at the rain, becoming defiant as she turned her head and looked at me. ‘They’re wrong. I know they are.’ There was anger, frustration, sadness in her voice. As a streak of lightning lit the church, I saw the emotion in her eyes.

‘I told them she wouldn’t have done that. But no-one listens to me.’

Chapter Three

Elise

When we reach the pub, I hover outside, thinking of the charade that lies behind the door.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Andrew is typically unsympathetic.

‘Absolutely nothing,’ I tell him. ‘I was just remembering something.’ I’ve long stopped caring about lying to him because Andrew’s entire life is a lie. People think he’s the amiable doctor, the caring father, the solicitous husband, the solid neighbour, when in truth he’s none of those. He’s a cruel, manipulative liar.

‘For God’s sake, go in, Elise. It’s far too cold to stand around outside.’ He sounds impatient.

‘Then don’t,’ I say tersely, pushing past him. Opening the door, I latch on to the first familiar face I see, feeling my heart sink. ‘Julian!’ Unbuttoning my jacket, I pin on a smile. ‘How lovely to see you! Is Della with you? How was Goa?’

‘Very good.’ As he kisses my cheek, the smell of his aftershave is cloying. ‘And very hot. She’s over there,’ he says, pointing across the pub to Della, who raises her hand, looking slightly anxious. Craning my neck, I see why – she’s been snared by Christian, who can talk about himself forever. I pull a sympathetic face at her before turning back to Julian.

‘Drink, Elise?’ Andrew’s voice comes from behind me.

‘Vodka and tonic. I’ve never been.’ I’m referring to Goa.