More giggling at the other end of the phone. Stella is only half listening; she only ever half listens to me.

“Stella?”

“Sorry, Freya, what were you saying? If you could have one wish . . .”

“Shall I tell you what it would be?”

The receiver feels sticky in my right hand, so I switch it to my left. Before I speak, I check on Dad’s whereabouts, but it’s all right: he’s at the far end of the garden, lighting a cigarette.

“I’d wish that you would go away, once and for all, and never, ever, ever come back, or phone, or write, or bother me and Dad in any way whatsoever. I’d wish for you to disappear into thin air and just, just . . . die.”

I make my voice calm and slow, because I know it will be more effective than shrieking.

At first I think she’s going to yell at me, and then I think she’s more likely to hang up, and then I hear her say, ever so quietly, “Got it.”

I’m not to know it’s the last thing my sister will ever say to me.

We trade silences for a good ten seconds before I end the call.

Chapter 7

7

I made a dash for the door but Cory got there first, and I wasn’t about to wrestle him. I wasn’t going to touch him, if I could help it. We stood poised and staring like cats, until I backed away and he slid into a sitting position against the door. He didn’t seem to care that he was getting dust all over his suit—or perhaps he didn’t notice. Under the bare bulb his face looked bony and white.

“How much did you hear?” I asked foolishly.

Cory drew the Stella mosaic onto his lap and scrutinised her face.

“Oh, Tom!” he piped in falsetto. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for so long! I’ve been wanting to tell you about all the horrible, nasty pictures . . .”

I retreated, step by backward step, until I hit the wall. My phone had landed by Cory’s foot, and we both saw Tom’s name lighting the screen as it began to ring. I thought he would get mad and stamp on it, especially when it stopped and started up again, but he didn’t get mad. He just waited until it stopped for good, which it did, of course. I couldn’t expect Tom to keep trying forever.

“What now?” I said. “What are you going to do?”

Cory lifted his hands from the floor one by one, and studied his dusty palms. A cobweb hung from his fingers like a length of dirty lace, and he wiped it on his trouser leg. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I wasn’t going to ask again.