I reached my street. A white station wagon had been parked opposite my house. Its passenger, wearing large sunglasses, slid out. Surely I had slipped into some otherworldly experience, where nothing was quite real?

But she was real. Sadie Riley bustled downhill to me. Fucking bloodhound, Detective Feng had called her at the scene of Caleb’s accident.

‘Phoebe Wharton, right? You’ll recognise me.’ Her make-up had the texture of poly filler. She had something in her hand. Shrouded in unreality, I imagined a gun or knife.

Then, a microphone, I realised. Not a weapon. Just brandished like one. ‘Police are interested in Caleb,’ she said, as if I might not have noticed. ‘They’ve got evidence linking him to arson. You’re a respected member of this community.’ She offered me her press ID. ‘How do you feel?’

‘I’ll take this inside to read with my glasses on.’

In my room, I peeled off everything I’d worn to work, changing into a cotton sundress and pulling my hair into a ponytail before opening my cedar chest and storing Sadie’s ID with the rest of my collection.

Jeannie arrived right on eight o’clock. Sadie Riley was still outside in her car.

‘Ignore her,’ I said at the front door.

Jeannie was chatty while I poured two glasses of pinot gris. Her mother was making many demands on her time, she said. It was hard living back at home at her age. Meanwhile, she shared photos of a different Brunton, one haunted by memories of my younger self, and Stephen. Nothing much changed here, until everything did.

‘I should have more photos actually,’ Jeannie said. ‘I always thought there’d be time to get the perfect shot. But things vanished so fast.’

‘Brunton was once a romantic place to me,’ I said. ‘I first came here with Stephen before we were engaged.’

‘I knew him when we were kids.’ Jeannie smiled. ‘He was so good looking. Some girls were very jealous of you. Ingrid Wilson especially. You know, at BuyCheap.’

I couldn’t picture it. Stephen and Ingrid! ‘I wondered why she was so hostile.’

‘She had a crush on Stephen for years.’

The front door crashed open and Caleb entered. He saw Jeannie and stopped, backpack hanging at his side, new sketchbook pressed into his armpit. Jeannie smiled. They knew each other well from Saturday mornings she’d spent helping him with his art. I wondered if she might be able to help me understand him, and mentioned his latest graphic stories, the ones he’d come back to rescue. ‘Maybe you’d like to see them?’

‘Of course!’ Jeannie looked enthused.

Caleb went to his room, returning with another sketchbook. ‘Some of my graphic stories.’ He turned the first page of Sean the Adventurer.