I waited in the hospital for hours, bloodied and exhausted, until eventually they told me Mike was out of surgery. Alive, at least, but he wouldn’t wake up for ages. There was no point in me being there. I drove home through the town, realising I had no idea what time it was. Late, probably. The streets were empty, that worn-out feeling of delayed shock that comes after a long, hot weekend. Everyone else would have gone to work today, Callum, Jodi back in their offices, where things made sense. The rest of us, me and Mike and Karen and Jake, our lives were stopped short. I wondered if Benji had been OK at school. Would people know? Would he be bullied for it? Our house looked used and discarded, police tape still fluttering over the gate and the lawn trodden in strange footprints. I imagined the neighbours knew all about it. They wouldn’t be happy – there was an Alveston Lane Neighbourhood Watch association, just for the four houses on this road. I parked up and walked over the grass, and it felt cold and slimy somehow. The table in the garden hadn’t been cleared because the police had been searching the lawn, so I scooped up armfuls of crockery and glasses. There was a wine glass marked with Karen’s dark pink lipstick, a little heart of colour smeared on to it. Everything was swimming in rain and dirt, and there were smears of food on the table. I couldn’t carry it all but I had to. I was staggering back over the lawn when Bill came out. He was wearing jeans and a heavy jumper and flip-flops.

‘Ali, I’ll do that.’

I was almost panting. ‘It’s all dirty. It’s so dirty.’

‘Well, we’ll clean it up. Cassie and I have made a start.’ I saw her slim shape through the window, white and insubstantial. ‘Benji has homework,’ Bill said. ‘We just got a pizza. I hope that’s OK.’

‘Of course.’ I told myself it didn’t matter if the kids ate badly for one night.

‘How’s Mike?’

‘He’s . . . stable, at least. They wouldn’t really tell me much more. He’s not awake.’ He was taking the plates from me, his hands big and capable. ‘Thank God you’re here, Bill. I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.’ I followed him back inside, noticing that the kitchen was clean, the dishwasher rumbling, the counters wiped down. He’d folded the dishcloth on the counter, neat, but different to what Mike would do, which was hang it over the cupboard handle. ‘Thank you for this. I think coming back to an untidy place would have finished me off.’

‘You remember Leyton Road?’