We went over this too, and it was about halfway through the whole unpleasant story that I realized I was, perversely, enjoying myself. It was good, even sort of exhilarating, to be talking about the past month with Eleanor Mallon — an entirely new person, someone who wasn’t Jessica, or Trevor. I kept reminding myself to keep my guard up, but Eleanor Mallon, as she listened, kept blinking myopically and dribbling cookie crumbs onto her chest and they were forming a little pile in the crease of her blouse, which made it impossible not to feel disarmed. As I spoke, I experienced a dawning sense of just how small my world had become since I arrived home in time to see my mother off into the afterlife and assume the care of Kelli. I once had friends, I realized as I spoke to Eleanor Mallon. In the other city where I used to live. A social circle, even. Sometimes we would go for coffee, or a yoga class, or one or two would drop by in the evenings for a glass of wine. Presumably, I still had these friends. I could call them, and they would talk to me, I was pretty sure. But over the last couple of months, it seemed I had forgotten about them. I’d forgotten about everything but where I was now and what I had to do. Or, it wasn’t that I’d forgotten exactly — a couple of them had even emailed me, with subject lines like “Checking in” and “How’s it going out there?” And I’d emailed back. But it had felt perfunctory. The fact was, these people felt impossible to me now — as if I’d travelled too far away. They may as well have been characters from a book, or a film I once enjoyed. At some point, without thinking about it, I’d given up on them, relinquished them, feeling like I had no choice. I was like Shackleton now, stuck in a hut at the South Pole, surrounded by snow. It wasn’t that the world of human souls had disappeared. I knew it was still out there. I had a few items from it — candles, canned goods, wool socks, boxes stamped BISCUITS from London — reminding me it hadn’t gone away. But knowing that didn’t make a difference. I was too far gone. My world was now the hut.

“And this gentleman, Trevor,” interrupted Eleanor Mallon. “Who you say you called that night to babysit Kelli?” Which was when I knew I had slipped up.

I paused, then swallowed. “Yes?”

“So he’s a friend?”

I gazed at Eleanor Mallon a moment, the same blank way she had at me through her glasses when I mentioned Jessica Hendy. I was thinking of the best, quickest way to dismiss Trevor from the conversation. We wanna give the lady as little to do as possible. A family friend who helped my mother out from time to time — end of story. Maybe I’d say he was a cousin. A second cousin, just to be on the safe side. Did Adult Protection workers look into that kind of thing? What happened if they found out I was lying? How deep did they dig?