“It is Lee’s business if his wife and his sister conspire to keep things from him,” Melissa insists. “He’d hate it. You know he would.”

“And he’d have no right to,” I say flatly. Please see sense, Mel. Please tell me I can tell you anything and you’ll keep my secrets. You never minded before. You knew I lied—we used to laugh together about the scrapes I’d get myself into. I need so badly to tell you about Gavin.

His name is like an icy hand closing around my heart. I shudder.

“What’s Lee told you about our childhood?”

Melissa looks uncomfortable. After half a minute or so of silence, she mutters, “I know about the . . . lunatic asylum.”

I force out a laugh, while my heart freezes over.

Did he tell her it turned out to be a hospice? That it was all my fault, that I brought it on myself? I’d ask, but I’m slick with sweat suddenly, and desperate to change the subject. Bardolph House: a name I’d like to forget but never will.

Tell her about Lee. Tell her the full story. They deserve it, both of them.

I can’t. If it would turn her against him, then I can’t do it. And if it wouldn’t turn her against him, I’d want to die even more than I do already.

I’ve gone over and over the dilemma in my mind and always arrive at the same conclusion: it wouldn’t be fair to tell her. She loves Lee, and so do I. To me, he will always be my sweet little brother, wailing about a stripy cardigan and a cuddly penguin. I still want to protect that small, fragile boy who doesn’t exist anymore. I try not to let myself think about this; it makes me cry whenever I do.

“Nicki? Are you OK?”

“No. No, I’m not OK.” Maybe I should throw myself under a train—do everyone a favor. That’s how I’d do it. I decided in February, though I’m not sure “decided” is the right word. The knowledge was already there, in my head. If I did it, I would do it by jumping under a fast-moving train.

“I can’t . . . collude with you, not now that I’m married to Lee,” Melissa says. “Please try to understand. If you want to do things you shouldn’t be doing, fine, I can’t stop you, but you can’t expect to come around and have a good gossip about what you’ve been up to and have me go along with it as if it’s not wrong!”

“Collude? Anyone would think I was . . .”

“A murderer?” Melissa says sharply.

I stare at her and notice that she is shaking. Does she think I killed Damon Blundy?

When I told her he’d been murdered, she didn’t express shock or regret. Not even surprise.

I wait for her to avert her eyes, but she stares back at me. A cold feeling spreads upward from the pit of my stomach. Hard to breathe. I have to get out of here.