She could not find it in herself to forgive, but Alex had. She, who prided herself on her truth and honesty, had kept her truths and hatred secret. She took the letter from her pocket. She did not intend to send it to Liv, to whom everything was fuel. But she should tell Dan. He had to know. She was frightened he wouldn’t love her, if he knew the sickness she lived with, but she was a coward. He should know. The latch on the sash window stuck, and she bruised her thumb, pushing at it, but at last it gave. She dropped the folded letter, holding it out, so it wouldn’t get caught in the vines. Then she took the snakeskin, gently, from the wall.

Outside, Dan checked his phone; five past four. He got up and stretched, and walked down the driveway towards the gate, slowly, vaguely, waiting, as his mind wandered. The sun was very hot, the day was still. Bea didn’t trust him. He didn’t think just going home would solve it. It would be better to be separate from everything they knew. The two of them, away from family, and grief, just themselves, in emptiness. She wasn’t like herself. There was need in her now, and fear. She hadn’t been like that before. He had done it to her, as much as Alex dying.