‘Please. I just need to – look at them again. In the light of what I know.’ Jodi and Callum exchanged another glance over my head, then she opened a drawer and passed me a shoebox full of photos, shiny and sharp. Us, back then. Three years of college photos, which Jodi had dutifully snapped at every important function, and got developed, and at one point pinned to the cork noticeboard in her room. Some of them still had little holes in, I could see. Maybe, in this bundle, there would be something I could show to the police to say – what? Karen was a liar? Mike was a good man? I didn’t even know.

I put it into my bag, and sat to eat the too-hot meal, even though it burned my mouth. Not long after, I left. Jodi stayed in the kitchen washing the dishes, while Callum walked me to the door, wrapping me up in a hug, and mumbling in a fug of wine how sorry he was. But I didn’t want pity, so I pulled myself away and went home.

1996

This is what I do remember.

We gathered on the lawn half an hour before the ball, to take photos of ‘the group’. Karen was at one end, still in sunglasses though the sun was dipping, a fag hanging from her mouth. She wore black silk, with a red rose in her hair, like a Mafia widow. She was angular, beautiful, pale despite the sun. I was squashed between Mike and Callum, my face pink. The curled hairstyle didn’t suit me, made my face look piggy. But I was happy, because the boys were hugging me, both of them already dishevelled and pie-eyed. Jodi was on the other side of Callum, and Bill between Karen and her. Awkward in the group hug, holding himself away from us. Afterwards, I’d try to tell where his eyes were looking, to see if he was staring at me, but I couldn’t. Mike was looking at Karen but she glanced away, at the camera maybe.

I realised years later that Martha Rasby was in the corner of the picture, snapped forever in her white dress and flaxen braids. I wondered if the police back then had scoured our pictures for clues. I remember we were asked to hand in our negatives after the ball. Before smartphones, we only had the pictures that came out, and I was a lousy photographer, always somehow trapping or spoiling the film. Jodi took the best ones – the boys rarely bothered, and Karen was too busy living, as she put it.

I remember there was champagne on the lawn, or more likely sparkling wine, and I remember Mike looked at me and the make-up Karen had put on me and blinked. ‘You’re very dressed-up.’