She stood, and Tom stood with her.

At the door, she paused.

“James,” she said, without turning around.

“What are you doing next Saturday?”

Chapter 8: The Morning Everything Changed

Saturday came the way important days always do — ordinary on the surface, the sky the same gray it had been all week, the drive unremarkable.

Anna had offered to come with me.

I told her I wanted to do this part alone.

Claire’s house was a red-brick semi-detached on a quiet street with a narrow front garden.

There was a bicycle on its side near the gate — a child’s bicycle, purple, with a basket on the front.

I stepped over it carefully.

Before I could knock, the door opened.

Rosie was eleven years old and she had been watching from the window.