I remember hearing a cough and turning to see Colin, our long-term tenant, standing at the entrance, assessing me with concern in his baggy eyes. Colin, who I knew was very fond of me, took my word for it when I assured him all was fine and he returned to his caravan. It was only later, when he looked back on that morning, when he noticed I’d already been out, that he must have realized what had really happened. Jess told me she always felt Colin knew more than he was letting on. And it’s true, but he kept quiet. For me.

He’d gone by the time Flora came into the barn. He didn’t see her confront me when she saw the gun was still in my hand, or the struggle that ensued between us.

He wouldn’t have known the gun had gone off as we’d wrestled with it, or witness Flora run from the farm and board a bus back to Bristol. He didn’t know that I lay on the floor of the barn, unconscious.

Later, in the hospital, Flora begged me to tell our mother, and the police, that it was her. ‘You could have died because of me. I want to do this. Think of your son. They’ll go easy on me after everything I’ve been through,’ she’d said. ‘You saved me. Now it’s my turn to save you.’

And save me she did. I’m here, free, able to walk around, to push Ethan on the swings in the park, ride my horse, be with my husband. Live a normal, full life. An even better life than the one I had before because Flora, my brave, beautiful sister, is in it.

It doesn’t always sit well with me, letting Flora take the blame. But I continue the pretence for Ethan’s sake.

After all, I’m good at keeping secrets: my father’s death was no accident.

When Flora and I argued in the barn over the gun, the Wilsons were already dead.

I’d driven to Tilby and shot them while Flora slept in her room. She caught me trying to put the gun back in the cabinet: she’d been withdrawing and said she needed them for her next fix. That moment only cemented it for me. I’d done the right thing – I didn’t even think of the consequences of my actions. I just knew I couldn’t let them live and risk them luring Flora back into their sordid world.

No, it wasn’t my sister who killed Clive and Deirdre Wilson.

It was me. And I’d do it all over again.

As for Uncle Leo, let’s just say I’ll be watching him.

Acknowledgements