He slid further under the duvet, intending to switch his phone to silent but the next message flashed straight up. I know where he is, thanks. I used to be married to him. I’m still on good terms with my MIL, who lives in Middledip, and we FaceTimed a couple of hours ago. She talks about village doings and she said you’re seeing someone called Laurel Hill.

Grady sat up, stunned. The duvet slumped around his waist but he was too shocked to cover himself up. People in the village liked to talk, he was aware, but surely having a meal with a woman wasn’t worthy of this level of interest. He hadn’t even known Ruben’s mum still lived in Middledip.

Another message popped up: It’s just there’s something you should know.

He watched the screen, heart knocking uncomfortably against his rib cage. Eventually he returned: What?

When nothing happened straight away he slid back down beneath the covers. He hadn’t drawn his bedroom curtains and turned his head to watch snow settling on leafless branches, making the trees look like elderly ladies with wiry perms. Deep in his gut, something had coiled, as if waiting.

When his phone vibrated, he lifted it up to read the next message.

Ruben got drunk one night and told me about how your brother attacked Laurel Hill when they were teenagers. Grady’s heart began beating so hard it made his vision swim. Half of him instantly refused to believe any such thing. The other half whispered in his ear: that would explain everything. Laurel treating Mac so warily. Mac being unsettled by her return to the village. And, nineteen Christmases ago, Laurel withdrawing entirely from Grady, then leaving the village the second her GCSEs were over.

Ruben was there. They waited on the playing field for Laurel to walk home. Mac and Amie grabbed Laurel and pulled all her clothes off her top half. Then she got away and ran home crying.

Horrified, for several moments all Grady could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out the wind that buffeted his window. He felt sick and had to shove the covers back as sweat burst out all over his body.

Eventually, he typed back with fumbling fingers: Why are you telling me this?

There was a short delay and then: You ought to know what your family did to her.

His mouth was dry, stomach heaving. Probably this Francesca had a point but still … what kind of person got in touch with a stranger to spout this kind of information about her ex-husband, unprompted? And to someone only indirectly involved? Was she messaging a whole load of people with this? Searching for a foothold in her motivation, he sent back: What’s your relationship like with Ruben now?