‘Yes, sweetie, I’m here.’

‘Is he dead?’

Josie glances to Robin, unsure. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, love.’

‘But he… It’s my fault…’

Robin’s breath stops in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t, but he has to ask.

‘What happened, Finn? Why is it your fault?’

Finn starts crying again, and Robin can only just make out what he’s saying through the sobs.

‘Jacob. Poor Jacob…’ Finn whispers.

Robin’s confused. Who is Jacob? Robin looks at Josie. She’s staring at Finn, her mouth open.

And her face has gone completely white.

25

‘What’s going on, Josie?’ Robin whispers in the hospital corridor. ‘Who the hell is Jacob?’

‘Keep your voice down, Robin,’ Josie replies, with a glance at the police guard. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confused.’

‘Finn seemed clear in there,’ Robin says. ‘What’s going on? What’s he talking about?’

Josie’s face is stern. She looks to Finn, then back to Robin.

‘Let’s get a cup of coffee.’

They walk quickly away from the hospital room, leaving Finn quiet in his bed. After he had said those words, Robin had paused, then tried to get more out of him. But he just shook his head.

‘Not another word, Finn. Do you understand me?’ Robin said before leaving him, glancing nervously towards the door. ‘Not a word, to anyone.’

Finn nodded.

Getting the coffees takes an intolerable amount of time, but at last they are seated in a corner of the bustling canteen.

‘Josie?’ Robin prompts again. ‘What did he mean? Who’s Jacob?’

‘It’s nothing. He’s getting mixed up.’ Josie sighs, then shakes her head. ‘You remember you went to Scout camp every August? You boys must have been about twelve when you started.’

Robin remembers clearly. The smell of damp grass. Cold A-frame canvas tents. Cake at eleven o’clock.

‘Yes. And?’

‘Jacob was one of the boys there. He was a small kid, blonde?’

Robin frowns. ‘He doesn’t ring a bell. Finn and I were in separate patrols, so we hung out with different people at camp. But what’s that got to do with anything now?’

‘Well, he died. I can’t believe you don’t remember this. Or maybe it was the year you didn’t go.’

‘Oh, Christ, yes.’ A flicker of recognition catches at the edge of Robin’s mind. He’d broken his leg the August of 1992. A bad tackle in rugby, and he was in a cast from his toes to his thigh, resulting in a miserable, hot summer. That was the last year of Scout camp, and Finn went alone.

‘Don’t you remember everyone talking about it?’ Josie asks, and Robin shakes his head. The selfishness of a grumpy fourteen-year-old, focusing only on his own plight. ‘It was all very tragic.’ Josie pauses, drinking her coffee. ‘It must have stuck somehow.’

‘And that’s all there is to it?’