“Julia told me,” I say, standing on the balls of my feet, ready to run.

He shakes his head. I expected anger, I expected him to come roaring at me, all rage and denial, but he looks calm, defeated as he stands facing me, shoulders sagging. It’s me full of anger, trembling with it. At Jack, who killed his baby sister on an icy road, then came into our lives and took Bella away.

“Look at you,” he says. “All righteous anger and disgust. Just like when we were kids, thinking you’re so much better than the rest of us.”

“You were driving. You caused Ellie’s death.”

“I was a kid. It was an accident. You think because Julia wasn’t driving it absolves her of all responsibility? She knew how dangerous the roads were, she was the adult. She chose to take me and Ellie out with her.”

“But you were driving,” I say again, taking a step closer to him. I want him to admit to what he did. I want him to acknowledge it.

“You think I wasn’t fucked up by it? Of course I was—Ellie was my sister. But it was an accident. It destroyed me but it was an accident. And in the aftermath of that, my mother left—walked out on us, couldn’t look at me, wouldn’t speak to me.” He laughs, a wild, bitter sound. “And you think I should have forgiven her? Yes, she said she was driving, but I wish now she hadn’t. Maybe if I’d told them the truth, my own mother wouldn’t have left us. I went to see her a few nights ago and do you know what her last words to me were? I forgive you, Jack. Well, that’s bollocks. That’s just a slap in the face, isn’t it? That’s her admitting she couldn’t stand the sight of me for ten years, that the reason she left all of us was because of me. And I was a kid, Tess—not much older than you when you lost your sister. Look how much it fucked you up, and you didn’t have your parent blaming you for it, did you? So before you come roaring at me about Julia and Ellie, think about that.”

I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think of my own guilt, remembering the terrible fight Bella and I had before the wedding. I’ve told myself the same as Jack is telling me—I was a kid, I can’t blame myself for the awful things I said, I was a kid. Jack was seventeen when his sister died. I can’t imagine it—can’t imagine how he could have dealt with the guilt, the awful, awful memories.