The car jerked as Pip pulled roughly on to the kerb. She stepped out into the darkened street and up to the front door.

She knocked.

The wind chimes beside it were swaying and singing in the evening breeze, high and insistent.

The front door opened and Becca’s face appeared in the crack. She looked at Pip and pulled it fully open.

‘Oh, hi, Pippa,’ she said.

‘Hi, Becca. I’m . . . I came to see if you were OK, after Thursday night. I saw you in the car and –’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded, ‘the detective told us it was you who found out about Mr Ward, what he’d done.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘Do you want to come in?’ Becca said, stepping back to clear the threshold. ‘Thanks.’

Pip walked past her and into the hallway she and Ravi had broken into weeks ago. Becca smiled and gestured her through into the duck-egg blue kitchen.

‘Would you like a tea?’ ‘Oh, no thanks.’

‘Sure? I was just making one for myself.’ ‘OK then. Black please. Thanks.’

Pip took a seat at the kitchen table, her back straight, knees rigid, and watched as Becca grabbed two flowery mugs from a cupboard, dropped in the teabags and poured from the just-boiled kettle.

‘Excuse me,’ Becca said, ‘I just need to get a tissue.’

As she left the room the train whistle sounded from Pip’s pocket. It was a message from Ravi: Yo, Sarge, where are you? She flicked the phone on to silent and zipped it back into her coat.

Becca re-entered the room, tucking a tissue into her sleeve. She brought over the teas and put Pip’s down in front of her.

‘Thank you,’ Pip said, taking a sip. It wasn’t too hot to drink. And she was glad for it now; something to do with her quaking hands.

The black cat came in then, strutting over with its tail up, rubbing its head into Pip’s ankles until Becca shooed it away.

‘How are your parents doing?’ Pip asked.

‘Not great,’ Becca said. ‘After we confirmed she wasn’t Andie, my mum booked herself into rehab for emotional trauma. And my dad wants to sue everyone.’

‘Do they know who the girl is yet?’ Pip said into the rim of her mug.

‘Yeah, they called my dad this morning. She was on the missing persons register: Isla Jordan, twenty-three, from Milton Keynes. They said she has a learning disability and the mental age of a twelve-year-old. She came from an abusive home and had a history of running away and possession of drugs.’ Becca fiddled with her short hair. ‘They said she’s very confused; she lived like that for so long – being Andie because it’s what pleased Mr Ward

– that she actually believes she’s a girl called Andie Bell from Little Kilton.’

Pip took a large gulp, filling the silence while the words in her head shivered and readjusted. Her mouth felt dry and there was an awful tremor in her throat, echoing back her doubled heartbeat. She raised the mug and finished off the tea.

‘She did look like her,’ Pip finally said. ‘I thought she was Andie for a few seconds. And I saw in your parents’ faces that hope that maybe it would be Andie after all. That me and the police could be wrong. But you already knew, didn’t you?’

Becca put her own mug down and stared at her.

‘Your face wasn’t like theirs, Becca. You looked confused. You looked scared. You knew for sure it couldn’t be your sister. Because you killed her, didn’t you?’

Becca didn’t move. The cat jumped up on the table beside her and she didn’t move.

‘In March 2012,’ Pip said, ‘you went to a calamity party with your friend, Jess Walker. And while you were there, something happened to you.

You don’t remember but you woke up and you knew something felt wrong.

You asked Jess to go and get the morning-after pill with you and when she asked who you’d slept with, you didn’t tell her. It wasn’t, as Jess presumed, because you were embarrassed, it’s because you didn’t know. You didn’t know what happened or with who. You had anterograde amnesia because someone had slipped Rohypnol into your drink and then assaulted you.’

Becca just sat there, inhumanly still, like a small fleshed-out mannequin too scared to move in case she ruffled the dark side of her sister’s shadow.

And then she started to cry. Tears like silent minnows chased down her cheeks, the muscles twitching in her chin. Something hurt inside Pip, something congealed and cold that closed round her heart as she looked into Becca’s eyes and saw the truth in them. Because the truth was no victory here; it was just sadness, deep and decaying.

‘I can’t imagine how horrible and lonely it was for you,’ Pip said, feeling unsteady. ‘Not being able to remember but just knowing that something bad had happened. You must have felt like no one could help you. You did

nothing wrong and you had nothing to be ashamed of. But I don’t think you felt that way at first and you ended up in hospital. And then what happened?

Did you decide to find out what had happened to you? Who was responsible?’

Becca’s nod was almost imperceptible.

‘I think you realized someone had drugged you, so is that where you started looking? Started asking around about who bought drugs at calamities and who from. And the questions led you back to your own sister. Becca, what happened on Friday the twentieth of April? What happened when Andie walked back from Mr Ward’s house?’

‘All I’d found out was someone bought weed and MDMA off her once,’

Becca said, looking down and catching her tears. ‘So when she went out and left me alone I looked in her room. I found the place where she hid her other phone and the drugs. I looked through the phone: all the contacts were saved with just one letter names, but I read through some messages and I found the person who bought Rohypnol from her. She’d used his name in one of the texts.’

‘Max Hastings,’ said Pip.

‘And I thought,’ she cried, ‘I thought that now I knew, we would be able to fix everything and put it right. And I thought that when Andie got home, I’d tell her and she’d let me cry on her and tell me she was so sorry and that

we, me and her, were going to set this right and make him pay. All I wanted was my big sister. And just the freedom of finally telling someone.’

Pip wiped her eyes, feeling shaky and drained. ‘And then Andie came home,’ Becca said. ‘With a head injury?’

‘No, I didn’t know that at the time,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see anything. She was just here, in the kitchen and I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to tell her.

And –’ Becca’s voice broke – ‘when I did she just looked at me and said she didn’t care. I tried to explain and she wouldn’t listen. She just said I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone or I’d get her in trouble. She tried to leave the room and I stood in her way. Then she said I should be grateful that someone had actually wanted me, because I was just the fat, ugly version of her. And she tried to push me out of the way. I just couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe she could be so cruel. I pushed her back and tried to explain again and we were both shouting and shoving and then . . . it was so fast.

‘Andie fell back on the floor. I didn’t think I’d pushed her that hard. Her eyes were closed. And then she was being sick. It was all over her face and in her hair. And,’ Becca sobbed, ‘then her mouth was full and she was coughing and choking on it. And I . . . I just froze. I don’t know why, I was just so angry at her. When I look back now I don’t know whether I made any decision or not. I don’t remember thinking anything at all, I just didn’t move.

I must have known she was dying and I stood there and did nothing.’ Becca shifted her gaze then, to a place on the kitchen tiles by the door. That must have been where it happened.

‘And then she went still and I realized what I’d done. I panicked and tried to clear her mouth but she was already dead. I wanted to take it back so badly. I’ve wanted to every day since. But it was too late. Only then did I see the blood in her hair and thought I must have hurt her; for five years I’ve thought that. I didn’t know until two days ago that Andie had injured her head before with Mr Ward. That must be why she lost consciousness, why she was sick. Doesn’t matter, though. I was still the one who let her choke to death. I watched her die and did nothing. And because I’d thought it was me who hurt her head, and there were scratches on her arms from me, signs of a struggle, I knew everyone – even my parents – would think I’d meant to kill her. Because Andie was always so much better than me. My parents loved her more.’

‘You put her body in the boot of her car?’ Pip said, leaning forward to hold her head because it was too heavy.

‘The car was in the garage and I dragged her inside. I don’t know how I found the strength to do it. It’s all a blur now. I cleaned everything up; I’d watched enough documentaries. I knew which type of bleach you have to use.’

‘Then you left the house at just before 10:40 p.m.,’ said Pip. ‘It was you the CCTV picked up, driving Andie’s car up the high street. And you took her .

. . I think you took her to that old farmhouse on Sycamore Road, the one you were writing an article about, because you didn’t want the neighbours to buy it and restore it. And you buried her there?’

‘She’s not buried,’ Becca sniffed. ‘She’s in the septic tank.’

Pip nodded gently, her fuzzy head grappling with Andie’s final fate.

‘Then you dumped her car and you walked home. Why did you leave it on Romer Close?’

‘When I looked through her second phone, I saw that that was where her dealer lived. I thought if I left the car there, the police would make the connection and he’d be the main suspect.’

‘What must you have thought when suddenly Sal was the guilty one and it was all over?’

Becca shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I thought maybe it was some kind of sign, that I’d been forgiven. Though I’ve never forgiven myself.’

‘And then,’ Pip said, ‘five years later, I start digging. You got my number from Stanley’s phone, from when I interviewed him.’

‘He told me some kid was doing a project, thinking Sal was innocent. I panicked. I thought that if you proved his innocence, I’d need to find another suspect. I’d kept Andie’s burner phone and I knew she was having a secret relationship; there were some texts to a contact named E about

meeting up at this hotel, the Ivy House. So I went there to see if I could find out who this man was. I didn’t get anywhere, the old woman who owned it was very confused. Then weeks later I saw you hanging round the station car park and I knew that’s where Andie’s dealer worked. I watched you, and as you followed him I followed you. I saw you go to his house with Sal’s brother. I just wanted to make you stop.’

‘That’s when you first texted me,’ Pip said. ‘But I didn’t stop. And when I came to talk to you at your office, you must have thought I was so close to

figuring out it was you, talking about the burner phone and Max Hastings. So you killed my dog and made me destroy all my research.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She looked down. ‘I didn’t mean for your dog to die. I let him go, I really did. But it was dark; he must have got confused and fallen in the river.’

Pip’s breath stuttered. But accident or not, it wouldn’t bring Barney back. ‘I loved him so much,’ Pip said, feeling dizzy, unjoining from herself.

‘But I choose to forgive you. That’s why I came here, Becca. If I’ve worked all this out, the police won’t be far behind me, not now they’ve reopened the case. And Mr Ward’s story starts to poke holes in yours.’ She spoke fast, slurring, her tongue tripping up over the words. ‘It’s not right what you did, Becca, letting her die. I know you know that. But it’s also not fair what happened to you. You didn’t ask for any of this. And the law lacks compassion. I came to warn you. You need to leave, get out of the country and find a life for yourself somewhere. Because they will be coming for you soon.’

Pip looked at her. Becca must have been talking, but suddenly all the sound in the world disappeared, there was just the buzz of a beetle’s wings trapped inside her head. The table was mutating and fizzing between them and some ghost-drawn weight started to drag down Pip’s eyelids.

‘I-I . . .’ she stuttered. The world dimmed, the only bright thing was the empty mug in front of her, wavering, its colours dripping up into the air.

‘You put somethi– My drink?’

‘There were a few of Max’s pills left in Andie’s hiding place. I kept them.’

Becca’s voice came to Pip loud and garish, a shrieking clown-laugh echo, switching from ear to ear.

Pip pushed up from her chair but her left leg was too weak. It gave out under her and she crashed into the kitchen island. Something smashed and the pieces were flying around like jagged clouds and up and up as the world spun around her.

The room lurched and Pip stumbled over to the sink, leaned into it and rammed her fingers down her throat. She vomited, and it was dark brown and stinging and she vomited again. A voice came to her from somewhere near and somewhere far.

‘I’ll work something out, I have to. There’s no evidence. There’s just you and what you know. I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. Why couldn’t you just

leave it alone?’

Pip staggered back and wiped her mouth. The room reeled again and Becca was in front of her, her shaking hands outstretched.

‘No,’ Pip tried to scream but her voice got lost somewhere inside. She hurtled back and side-stepped around the island. Her fingers bit into one of the stools to keep her on her feet. She grabbed it and launched it behind her.

There was a head-split echo of clattering as it took out Becca’s legs.

Pip ran into the wall in the hallway. Ears ringing and shoulder throbbing, she leaned into it so it wouldn’t morph away from her and scaled her way to the front door. It wouldn’t open but then she blinked and it vanished and she was outside somehow.

It was dark and spinning and there was something in the sky. Bright and colourful mushrooms and doomclouds and sprinkles. The fireworks with a ripping-the-earth sound from the common. Pip picked up her feet and ran towards the bright colours, into the woods.

The trees were walking in a wooden two-step and Pip’s feet went numb. Missing. Another sparkling sky-roar and it made her blind.

Her hands out in front to be her eyes. Another crack and Becca was in her face.

She pushed and Pip fell on her back in the leaves and mud. And Becca

was standing over her, hands splayed and reaching down and . . . a rush of energy came back to her. She forced it down her leg and kicked out hard.

And Becca was on the ground too, lost in the dark leaves. ‘I was tr-trying to h-help you,’ Pip stammered.

She turned and crawled and her arms wanted to be legs and her legs, arms. She scrabbled up to her missing feet and ran from Becca. Towards the churchyard.

More bombs were bursting and it was the end of the world behind her.

She grasped at the trees to help push her on as they danced and twirled at the falling sky. She grabbed a tree and it felt like skin.

It lunged out and gripped her with two hands. They fell on the ground and they rolled. Pip’s head smashed into a tree, a snaking trail of wet down her face, the iron-bite of blood in her mouth. The world went dark again as the redness pooled by her eyes. And then Becca was sitting on her and there was something cold round Pip’s neck. She reached up to feel and it was fingers but her own wouldn’t work. She couldn’t prise them off.

‘Please.’ The word squeezed out of her and the air wouldn’t come back.

Her arms were stuck in the leaves and they wouldn’t listen to her. They wouldn’t move.

She looked up into Becca’s eyes. She knows where to put you where they’ll never find you. In a dark as dark place, with the bones of Andie Bell.

Her arms and legs were gone and she was following.

‘I wish someone like you had been there for me,’ Becca cried. ‘All I had was Andie. She was my only escape from my dad. She was my only hope

after Max. And she didn’t care. Maybe she never had. Now I’m stuck in this thing and there’s no way out except this. I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.’

Pip couldn’t remember now what it felt like to breathe. Her eyes were splitting and there was fire in the cracks.

Little Kilton was being swallowed by an even bigger dark. But those rainbow sparks in the night were nice to look at. One last nice thing to send you on before it all goes black.

And as it did, she felt the cold fingers loosen and come away.

The first breath ripped and snagged as she sucked it down. The blackness pulled back and sounds grew out of the earth.

‘I can’t do it,’ Becca said, moving her hands back to hug herself. ‘I can’t.’

Then a crash of rustling footsteps and a shadow leaped over them and Becca was dragged off. More sounds. Shouting and screaming and, ‘You’re OK, pickle.’

Pip turned her head and her dad was here with her, pinning Becca down on the ground while she struggled and cried.

And there was another person behind her, sitting her up, but she was a river and couldn’t be held.

‘Breathe, Sarge,’ Ravi said, stroking her hair. ‘We’re here. We’re here now.’ ‘Ravi, what’s wrong with her?’

‘Hypnol,’ Pip whispered, looking up at him. ‘Rohypnol in . . . tea.’ ‘Ravi, call an ambulance now. Call the police.’

The sounds went away again. It was just the colours and Ravi’s voice vibrating in his chest and through her back to the outer edge of all sense.

‘She let Andie die,’ Pip said or she thought she said. ‘But we have to let her go. It’s not fair. Not fair.’

Kilton blinked.

‘I might not remember. I might get mm . . . nesia. She’s in septic tank. Farmhouse . . . Sycamore. That’s where . . .’

‘It’s OK, Pip,’ Ravi said, holding her so she didn’t fall off the world. ‘It’s over. It’s all over now. I’ve got you.’

‘How didddu find me?’

‘Your tracking device is still on,’ Ravi said, showing her a fuzzy, jumping screen with an orange blip on the Find My Friends map. ‘As soon as I saw you here, I knew.’

Kilton blinked.

‘It’s OK, I’ve got you, Pip. You’re going to be OK.’ Blink.

They were talking again, Ravi and her dad. But not in words she could hear, in the scratching of ants. She couldn’t see them any more. Pip’s eyes were the sky and fireworks were rupturing inside. Flower sprays of Armageddon. All red. Red glows and red shines.

And then she was a person again, on the cold damp ground, Ravi’s breath in her ear. And through the trees were flashing blue lights spewing black uniforms.

Pip watched them both, the flashes and the fireworks.

No sound. Just her rattlesnake breath and the sparks and the lights.

Red and blue. Red and blue. Bled a n drue. Be

ll an

n

‌‘There are a lot of people out there, Sarge.’ ‘Really?’‌

‘Yeah, like, two hundred.’

She could hear them all; the chattering and the clattering of chairs as people took their seats in the school hall.

She was waiting in the wings, her presentation notes clutched in her hands, the sweat from the bulbs of her fingers smudging the printed ink.

Everyone else in her year had done their EPQ presentations earlier in the week, to small classrooms of people and the modulators. But the school and the exam board thought it would be a good idea to turn Pip’s presentation into ‘ a bit of an event ,’ as the head teacher had put it. Pip had been given no choice in the matter. The school had advertised it online and in the Kilton Mail. They’d invited members of the press to attend; Pip had seen a BBC van pull up earlier and the equipment and cameras unpacked.

‘Are you nervous?’ Ravi said.

‘Are you asking obvious questions?’

When the Andie Bell story broke it had been in the national newspapers and on TV stations for weeks. It was in the height of all that craziness that Pip had had her interview for Cambridge. The two college fellows had recognized her from the news, gawping at her, yapping questions about the case. Her offer was one of the very first to come in.

Kilton’s secrets and mysteries had followed Pip so closely in those weeks she’d had to wear them like a new skin. Except that one that was buried deep down, the one she’d keep forever to save Cara. Her best friend who’d never once left Pip’s side in the hospital.

‘Can I come over later?’ Ravi asked her.

‘Sure. Cara and Naomi are round for dinner too.’

They heard a sharp patter of clip-clop heels and Mrs Morgan appeared, fighting through the curtain.

‘I think we’re just about ready when you are, Pippa.’

‘OK, I’ll be out in a minute.’

‘Well,’ Ravi said when they were alone again, ‘I’d better go and take my seat.’

He smiled, put his hands on the back of her neck, fingers in her hair, and leaned in to press his forehead against hers. He’d told her before that he did it to take away half her sadness, half her headache, half her nerves as she’d

got on the train to Cambridge for her interview. Because half less of a bad thing meant there was room for half good.

He kissed her, and she glowed with that feeling. The one with wings. ‘You bring the rain down on them, Pip.’

‘I will.’

‘Oh, and,’ he said, turning one last time before the door, ‘don’t tell them the only reason you started this project was because you fancied me. You know, think of a more noble reason.’

‘Get out of here.’

‘Don’t feel bad. You couldn’t help yourself, I’m ravishing,’ he grinned. ‘Get it? Ravishing. Ravi Singh.’

‘Sign of a great joke, having to explain it,’ she said. ‘Now go.’

She waited another minute, muttering the first lines of her speech under her breath. And then she walked out on stage.

People weren’t quite sure what to do. About half the audience started clapping politely, the news cameras panning to them, and the other half sat deadly still, a poppy field of eyes stalking her as she moved.

From the front row, her dad stood up and whistled with his fingers, shouting: ‘Get ’em, pickle.’ Her mum swiftly pulled him back down and

exchanged a look with Nisha Singh, sitting beside her.

Pip strode over to the head teacher’s lectern and flattened her speech down on top.

‘Hi,’ she said, and the microphone screeched, cutting through the silent room. Cameras clicked. ‘My name is Pip and I know many things. I know that typewriter is the longest word that can be made with just one row of the keyboard. I know that the Anglo-Zanzibar war was the shortest in history, lasting only thirty-eight minutes. I also know that this project put myself, my friends and my family in danger and has changed many lives, not all for the better. But what I don’t know,’ she paused, ‘is why this town and the national media still don’t really understand what happened here. I am not the “prodigy student” who found the truth for Andie Bell in long articles where Sal Singh and his brother Ravi are relegated to small side notes. This project began with Sal. To find the truth.’

Pip’s eyes uncovered him then. Stanley Forbes in the third row, scribbling away in an open notebook. She still wondered about him, him and the other names on her persons of interest list, the other lives and secrets that had criss-crossed this case. Little Kilton still had its mysteries,

unturned stones and unanswered questions. But this town had too many dark corners; Pip had learned to accept that she couldn’t shine a light into each and every one.

Stanley was sitting just behind her friends, Cara’s face absent among them. As brave as she had been through everything, she’d decided today would have been too hard for her.

‘I couldn’t have fathomed,’ Pip continued, ‘that when this project was over, it would end with four people in handcuffs and one being set free after five years in her own prison. Elliot Ward has pleaded guilty to the murder of Sal Singh, to the kidnap of Isla Jordan and perverting the course of justice. His sentencing hearing is next week. Becca Bell will face trial later this year for the following charges: manslaughter by gross negligence, preventing a lawful burial and perverting the course of justice. Max Hastings has been charged with four counts of sexual assault and two counts of rape, and will

also be tried later this year. And Howard Bowers has pleaded guilty to the charge of supplying a controlled drug and possession with intent to sell.’

She shuffled her notes and cleared her throat.

‘So, why did the events of Friday the twentieth of April 2012 happen?

The way I see it, there are a handful of people who carry some of the blame for what happened that night and the days following, morally if not all criminally. These are: Elliot Ward, Howard Bowers, Max Hastings, Becca Bell, Jason Bell and, do not forget, Andie herself. You have cast her as your beautiful victim and wilfully overlook those more shaded layers of her character, because it doesn’t comfortably fit your narrative. But this is the truth: Andie Bell was a bully who used emotional blackmail to get what she wanted. She sold drugs without care or regard for how they might be used.

We will never know if she knew she was facilitating drug-assisted sexual assault, but certainly when confronted with this truth by her own sister she could not find it in herself to show compassion.

‘And yet, when we look closer, what do we find behind this true Andie?

We find a girl, vulnerable and self-conscious. Because Andie grew up being taught by her father that the only value she had was in the way she looked and how strongly she was desired. Home for her was a place where she was bullied and belittled. Andie never got the chance to become the young woman she might have been away from that house, to decide for herself what made her valuable and what future she wanted.

‘And though this story does have its monsters, I’ve found that it is not one that can be so easily cleaved into the good and the bad. In the end, this was a story about people and their different shades of desperation, crashing up against each other. But there was one person who was good until the very end. And his name was Sal Singh.’

Pip looked up then, her eyes flicking straight to Ravi, sitting between his parents.

‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘I didn’t do this project alone, as the guidelines require. I couldn’t have done it on my own. So, I guess you’re going to have to disqualify me.’

A few people gasped in the audience, Mrs Morgan loudly among them. A few titters of laughter.

‘I couldn’t have solved this case without Ravi Singh. In fact, I wouldn’t have survived it. So, if anyone should speak about how kind Sal Singh was now that you’re all finally listening, it’s his brother.’

Ravi stared at her from his seat, his eyes wide in that telling-off way that she loved. But she knew he needed this. And he knew it too.

She beckoned with a tilt of her head and Ravi got to his feet. Victor stood up too, whistling with his fingers again and smacking his big hands loudly together. Some of the students in the audience joined in, clapping as Ravi jogged up the steps to the stage and walked over to the lectern.

Pip stepped back from the microphone as Ravi joined her. He winked at her and Pip felt a flash of pride as she watched him step up to the lectern, scratching the back of his head. He’d told her just yesterday that he was going to retake his school exams so he could go on to study law.

‘Erm . . . hi,’ Ravi said, and the microphone screeched for him too. ‘I wasn’t expecting this, but it’s not every day a girl throws away a guaranteed A star for you.’ There was a quiet ripple of warm laughter. ‘But, I guess, I didn’t need preparation to talk about Sal. I’ve been preparing for that nearly six years now. My brother wasn’t just a good person, he was one of the best.

He was kind, exceptionally kind, always helping people and nothing was ever too much trouble. He was selfless. I remember this one time when we were kids, I spilt Ribena all over the carpet and Sal took the fall for me so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Oops, sorry, Mum, guess you had to find out some time.’

More laughter from the audience.

‘Sal was cheeky. And he had the most ridiculous laugh; you couldn’t help but join in. And, oh yeah, he used to spend hours drawing these comics for me to read in bed because I wasn’t a great sleeper. I still have them all.

And damn was Sal clever. I know he would have done incredible things with his life, if it hadn’t been taken away from him. The world will never be as bright without him in it,’ Ravi’s voice cracked. ‘And I wish I’d been able to tell him all this when he was alive. Tell him he was the best big brother anyone could ever wish for. But at least I can say it now on this stage and know that this time everyone will believe me.’

He looked back at Pip, his eyes shining, reaching for her. She drew forward to stand with him, leaning into the microphone to say her final lines.

‘But there was one final player in this story, Little Kilton, and it’s us.

Collectively we turned a beautiful life into the myth of a monster. We turned a family home into a ghost house. And from now on we must do better.’

Pip reached down behind the lectern for Ravi’s hand, sliding her fingers between his. Their entwined hands became a new living thing, her finger pads perfect against the dips in his knuckles like they’d grown just that way to fit together.

‘Any questions?’