But the police swarmed through, trampling plants as well as weeds, killing the beauty. After another night of no sleep, I left the house early, getting a spade and a trowel and gardening gloves from my dad’s shed, making my way down the lane in the half-light, a flask of tea and a roll of green plastic bags in the rucksack on my back.

I should leave it, abandon it, like everyone else has. I have Dad’s garden to concentrate on now, that’s going to be a project to heal both of us. But…I need to do this. Dean House and its inhabitants are so tied up in my lost memories—doesn’t it make sense that I’ll remember more if I go back to the gardens? Although…I think of Sophie’s words. Do I really want to remember? But there’s the class photo I found, Bella’s shoes. Those damned texts. Someone’s messing with me, planting things to make me paranoid and suspicious. To make me look suspicious. If I don’t remember, I have nothing to fight back with.

The gloves protect my hands from some of the brambles, but they’re soon smeared with blood from the sharpest thorns as they cut through the canvas, prick my palms with dozens of holes. I don’t stop, chopping at the thickest, most stubborn roots with Mum’s old clippers, clearing away the choking weeds from the roses that still climb the walls. Too early for them to flower, but there are a couple of buds.

I’ve been working for two hours and am taking a break and drinking tea when Sean climbs over the wall and joins me. He’s carrying a bag, which he puts down on the ground. He doesn’t say anything but takes the second plastic cup I offer him, drinking the tea I pour into it. As he stands next to me, I can see the faint scar on the side of his face. We never talked about it. I went off with Greg and didn’t see the boys again until just before the wedding. And even then we didn’t talk about it.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, as the silence gets too much.

He shrugs. “I saw you marching off, guessed you’d be coming here.”

I think of the texts. The light I saw flashing in Dean House before I found Bella’s shoes. Everything the police seem to suddenly know. How different Sean is to how I remember him. “Why would you assume that?”

He glances at me. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it either—Dad. Everything that happened back then. It all started and ended here, didn’t it?”