‘You’re so resourceful,’ George laughs. It amazes him how different the three sisters are. One he hugely admires, one he loves and one… well, he doesn’t know how he feels right now.

Carly crawls out of the tent and passes Archie a couple of chocolate fingers.

‘Superheroes need to keep their energy up. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Stay,’ George asks. The realization he doesn’t want to be alone with Leah sits uncomfortably on his stomach.

‘I can’t. Little man has worn me out.’

Carly’s eyes are shadowed with deep violet rings. None of them are sleeping properly.

‘Leah shouldn’t be long.’

‘Really, I need to go.’

‘Are the letters scaring you?’ he asks, suddenly worried about his sister-in-law. Moments ago he’d been mentally berating Leah for not considering his feelings and he was guilty of doing the same with Carly, but she always seemed to be the one who copes. She might have chosen not to have kids of her own but who’s to say she would have done anyway? She doesn’t have a crutch that George can see, no alcohol or rituals for her. And yet these past few days seem to have shrunk her.

Twenty fucking years. It’s enough to break anyone.

‘Not scaring me… just… I don’t know. I feel angry, I think.’ She tilts her head to one side like a bird waiting for a crumb. ‘Yes. Angry and disappointed and… I just want it to be over now. I need it to be over now.’

‘Three days,’ George says.

‘Three days,’ she whispers.

It doesn’t sound long. Less than a week. Seventy-two hours. But empires had been torn apart in less. Lives left in pieces.

‘What did you think about the TV offer?’ George can’t help asking as Carly pulls on her coat. The colour bleaches from her already pale face.

‘There are things…’ Carly’s breath hitches and she takes a second to compose herself. ‘There are things that are too awful to comprehend. That should never be shared.’

George nods. He knows all about things that are too awful to comprehend. He’s guilty of them himself.

George knows all about secrets.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Leah

Now

The two-day letter is on my doormat when I tumble downstairs after a sleepless night. It isn’t a surprise but it fills me with dread all the same. Two days. Two days until what? I am almost willing the next forty-eight hours to thunder past so I can get it over with, whatever it is. The anniversary or something else.

Something worse?

I slip the letter into my pocket like a secret – the empty chocolate digestive packet after I’d binged, stuffing biscuits down to suppress my rising fear.

‘Morning,’ George pads barefoot into the kitchen. ‘Did you get another letter?’

‘No, nothing today.’ I’m thinking of the Power of Attorney search he’d done online. I need to show him I am coping but we both know that I’m not.

He studies me, a surprised expression on his face almost as though he expects me to keep receiving them until the anniversary. ‘You can talk to me, Leah, about… about anything.’