A comma.

I wish Carly were here.

From outside I think I hear someone whisper my name. I listen but the only sound is my blood whooshing in my ears.

Picking up the wooden post that now feels heavier in my hand, I limp forwards, my thoughts racing, my body slow, following our invisible train of sorrow over to the main building.

The NORWOOD ARMY CAMP sign is still there. My breath rasps as I heft myself up the five steps I once pounded up, terrified Moustache and Doc were close behind.

The reception is pretty much as it had been, with the curved desk, the Welcome graffiti faded from black to grey. Curved above it, like a rainbow is another word, and this one causes a whimper to break free from my lips, which are clamped together in fright.

Today.

I am in the right place.

Up ahead, a noise. Not the police sirens I am so desperate to hear, but something else.

Somebody else?

In the cinema room some of the benches have been burned, ash heaped on the floor. The wind gusts through the empty window frames. A crisp packet crinkles from the direction of the ballroom.

Spicy Tomato Snaps.

All at once I can taste them in my mouth. Bile rises. I have never felt so scared. I push myself onwards. My back screams with every small step. The ballroom is in a worse state than before. To my left a heap of grubby blankets. I tiptoe around broken glass, discarded syringes, but I’m sure my pounding heart is audible even if my footsteps aren’t. The gaping holes in the ceiling from which the chandeliers once hung watch me. Every few seconds I look up, half expecting to see someone above me, but there’s no one here. I inch forward as quietly as I can.

There is still a huge mound of rubbish in the centre of the room. I remember the smell of it as I cowered inside with Carly and Marie. A bonfire waiting to be lit. I skirt around it, my memories causing me to tremble, when out of the corner of my eye I spot them.

Feet.

Instantly I clamp my hands over my mouth to contain my scream. The feet are too large to be Archie’s. But that doesn’t mean he’s not here, huddled inside the stinking pile. I creep towards the feet, unable to tear my eyes away from them. They don’t move. Do they know I’m here?

Thoughts ricochet. I don’t want to drive my post into the pile in case Archie is inside. Instead, I angle the corner of the wood and lift the rubbish so I can properly see the legs, the body, the face.

Oh God, the face.

Nausea rises hot and sour as the blank, lifeless eyes of my sister stare back at me.

Chapter Sixty-Three

George

Now

George can’t bring himself to open Leah’s text. He is lost in thought. Lost in shame.

And regret.