She made it halfway through the first page when the man unpacked his basket in her check-out: bread, milk, bottled water, Mi Goreng noodles, water crackers, a box of Frosties, chamomile tea, valerian capsules, three different types of antihistamines and a bottle of Wild Turkey.

‘Hello, Mrs Gilpin,’ the man said. ‘Do you remember me?’

For the first time since he came in, she looked at the man’s face. John had been a teenager the last time they met. She had thought she’d spotted him at a distance now and then over the years – wandering down Bay Street or sitting on the beach – but had always managed to avoid him. Or maybe he was the one avoiding her. He had filled out a little and had three- or four-day growth on his face, so it took a moment to place him.

‘John?’ she said. Her mouth groped for more words like a fish, but nothing came out.

‘It’s been a while,’ he said.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Grocery shopping,’ he said, gesturing to his shopping basket. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin was pasty, almost yellow. It looked like he hadn’t slept since the day she dropped him at the ferry twenty-three years earlier.

‘I mean, what are you doing in Belport?’ Abby asked, her tone unintentionally icy. Ray had told her about John’s visit. He’d assured her that there was nothing to worry about, that he’d sorted it and John would be leaving again very soon.

‘My wife and I have a house here,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’m here most summers.’ Abby couldn’t tell whether he misunderstood her question intentionally or not. He certainly looked dazed enough to have forgotten meeting with Ray.

‘You’re married then?’ Abby said.

Nodding, John took out his phone and showed her his screensaver of a pretty but uninteresting brunette with a cute little girl wrapped in her arms. Abby looked into the woman’s eyes and thought, Does she know? Did he tell her?

‘How’s Eddie?’ John asked.

‘Fine,’ she said.

She began ringing up and bagging his items. She had to concentrate to keep her hands from trembling.

‘I drove out to Beech Tree Landing today,’ he said. ‘Strange, being there without the old ferry terminal. When exactly did they tear it down?’

‘Must have been a good fifteen years ago,’ Abby said. ‘It was a safety hazard.’

And after what happened, people said it was haunted, she thought, but kept that detail to herself.

‘I’ve managed to avoid it, mostly. Took me nearly two weeks to work up the nerve to go out there,’ he said. ‘And a little longer to work up the nerve to talk to you.’

The door behind which she’d locked all the dark things rattled and shook.

‘We have nothing to talk about,’ she said.