A long time after that day, when things had started going bad, Jason wondered whether maybe she’d broken that glass on purpose. To show off to her new friends. To make sure they’d come back. But on that April afternoon, it was just the coolest thing he’d ever seen anyone do.

  ?You did that??

  She nodded and handed him a glass. ?I’m not sure how. Just sometimes it happens. It’s like I can get myself out of trouble.?

  Rob was laughing. ?That is just so far out!?

  Carrie had found a dustpan and brush and was sweeping up the glass. ?I told you she wasn’t like other girls. So are we all going to be friends or what??

  And that was how the summer started. How three became four.

  Jason opened his eyes and stared at the wall opposite him. His legs were starting to cramp with the cold, but he ignored them. He could still hear that smashing glass in his head. His soul ached with emptiness. How different would it have all been if Carrie had never joined that ridiculous library club? Where would they all be now? Would Carrie still be here, instead of cold and sad down at that hospital morgue? Would she have married Jimmy Locke? Or would Jason have got his wish, all he’d ever really wanted? Would they all have been best buddies forever?

  The cold was making his nose run. Guilt. Secrets. Syracousse. Well, if the old man had been rambling, then he’d got very lucky with his guesses. His legs twinging beneath him, he dragged himself upright. Yeah, he’d talk to Rob after the funeral. He wanted to talk. Needed to talk, and the sad thing was that the rich bastard was the only person he had left whom he could talk to. His heart heavy, feeling like he desperately needed a drink, he went back inside.

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  Standing on the doorstep of the terraced, Edwardian house, Kelly was beginning to feel ridiculous. Why had she agreed to do this for her dad? Rob would no doubt already know about the funeral; after all, he and CaroleAnne had been good friends, even if it was a long time ago. But then, she knew her father well enough to know that this was more about matchmaking than about passing on information. Yeah, she figured she’d read her father’s mind pretty well. And maybe he’d read hers with the ease at which she agreed to this visit she was now regretting. Surely he’d never noticed the crush she had on Rob when they were at school? She groaned inside. Of course he had. He was a policeman at the end of the day, and perhaps, after all the stuff with his dad and then Gina, her concern for the boy who hadn’t even known she’d existed was a little obvious.

  Still, she thought, drawing herself up. School was a long time ago for all of them and there had been a whole lot of bigger crushes from the time Rob disappeared off to

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  boarding school and the day her love life died with the internal admission that all men were bastards or not worth the effort. Smoothing out her jeans, she rang the doorbell. Here goes, then. She tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in her stomach. God, this was going to be so embarrassing; standing on a virtual stranger’s doorstep, looking like the village gossip. She saw a shadow approaching through the glass panel and resisted the urge to run away. Five minutes and it would all be over. Job done. She took a deep breath as the door opened.

  The first thing she noticed was that he was still gorgeous in the flesh. A little thin, a little tired-looking, but gorgeous all the same. The second thing she noticed was that he looked confused.

  ?Can I help you??The voice seemed disinterested, and she wondered whether she’d woken him. The more she looked, the more tired he seemed, dark circles eating at those eyes that were still as blue as the ocean.

  Oh, get a grip, girl, she chastised herself. The sight of a new man in town and you’ve come over all Mills and Boon. She smiled and felt a blush of embarrassment flushing her skin.

  ?Um, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Kelly Hollingsworth. I was in your class at school? My dad was a policeman??She knew the words were coming out too quickly, but she just wanted to get the job done and get out of here. ?He asked me if I’d pop by, I don’t want to disturb you or anything …?

  Rob interrupted her, his face stretching into a grin of recognition. ?Kelly Hollingsworth! Yeah, I remember you! You were the really clever kid who should have been in the nursery or something but instead had been moved up about a million classes!??

  Kelly shrugged, not sure what to make of his memory. ?Well, only two to be precise. The reason I’ve called ‘round is …?

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  Rob had pulled the door wide. ?Come in, come in. God, you’ve changed a bit, haven’t you??Kelly presumed he was referring to her train-track braces and puppy fat.

  ?Yes, well that’s what happens when you grow up. Everything changes.?

  Rob led her down the hallway, and he cast a searching glance back at her. ?You think so? These days I’m not so sure. You’ll have to excuse the kitchen; it’s a bit of a mess. I’ve been writing.? He laughed slightly as if at a private joke. ?Well, thinking about writing.?

  Now she was inside, Kelly was starting to feel awkward. Why hadn’t she just said what she had to say and gone? She felt trapped and didn’t like it.

  Holding the coffeepot in one hand, Rob turned to face her, leaning against the sink, and she felt his eyes thoughtfully appraising her. ?Kelly Hollingsworth. God, time just disappears, doesn’t it? How did we get to be so old??

  She smiled, and nodded at the offer of a coffee. ?Well, I hate to remind you, but you’ve got two years on me. I’m still only thirty-five years young.?

  He raised an eyebrow as he emptied the jug of water into the top and turned the machine on. ?Thank you so much for reminding me. So what brought you around here??

  Her eyes slid to the floor for a moment, having until then been doing some appraising of her own, wondering what his body looked like under that black long-sleeve t-shirt. God, she must be getting desperate. Or maybe it was just that seeing him had allowed her a small trip down memory lane to a time when she’d been all hormones with a head full of unrealistic dreams. But whatever it was, all thoughts of sex were dispelled when he asked the question.

  She ran her hand through her hair, something she always did when trying to broach an unpleasant subject, and then brought her eyes back to his. ?It’s about CaroleAnne.?He looked as if he’d just been doused in cold

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  water, the skin on his face almost goose-pimpling with the shock.

  ?I know this whole thing must have been awful for you, but my father thought you’d like to know that the police are releasing her body on Monday morning. The funeral’s been arranged for Tuesday afternoon.?

  ?Right. Right.?His voice was soft as he turned away and started filling the mugs with steaming coffee. ?Thanks for telling me. I thought it might be announced in the paper or something.? He moved to the fridge for the milk and kept his eyes averted. He must be more upset than she’d first thought.

  ?No. I don’t think anyone wants too much publicity. You know. Press and things like that.?God, this was hard. She shuffled slightly from foot to foot, trying to ease away the tension in her body and the room.

  ?Of course. I wasn’t thinking.?He looked up at her, and she wondered what was going on behind those eyes. ?Do you take sugar??

  She shook her head. ?Look, I can just go if you want. I know this is awkward. You probably want to be on your own.?

  There was a moment’s pause before he spoke. ?No. I’d like you to stay. I could use the conversation.?He was chewing his bottom lip, just like he used to when they’d had tests at school. It made her smile. So he still chewed his lip when he was thinking, just like she still flicked her hair when she had to do something unappealing. She wondered whether he even knew he did it. Probably not. Maybe they didn’t change that much when they grew up after all.

  She took the mug. ?Well, if you’re sure.?

  He clinked his mug against hers. ?Yes, I’m sure, Kelly Hollingsworth. Cheers.?He let out a long sigh, and then looked at her sideways. ?Is it still Hollingsworth? Or has some lucky man dragged you down the aisle??

  She laughed aloud. ?No, it’s still Hollingsworth.

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  Although I do have a daughter. Tabitha. She’s four. Four and fantastic.?The coffee burned as she swallowed, and she wondered why she’d brought Tabby up so quickly. Was she trying to put him off? As if he were even interested.

  He wasn’t fazed though, just curious. ?So what happened with her dad? Divorce??

  The frankness of his question made her answer more honestly than she normally would. ?Well, since you ask, he’d already dragged another girl down the aisle long before I met him. Stupid, huh??

  This time it was his turn to look embarrassed. ?Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s the writer in me. Makes me too damned nosy for my own good.?

  Kelly shook her head. ?It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.?And for the first time in a long time, she realized she meant it. ?What about you??

  He threw his head back and laughed, whatever weight he seemed to be carrying momentarily forgotten. When he looked at her, his eyes were full of soft humor. ?Don’t you read the gossip columns??

  She shook her head.

  ?Well, you’ve got a long way to go if you want to start competing with me in the ‘stupid relationship’ stakes. I’m the king of the meaningless fling.?

  She smiled, despite the alarm that rang in her head with those two words. At least he was honest, and that made a change. ?That bad, huh??

  He shrugged, his face a little more serious. ?Yeah, I think I am, or was. Too much success can do that to a person. Too much success, too much cocaine and not enough people prepared to put you in your place can turn you into an arsehole in no time at all, you can trust me on that one. And the London scene isn’t exactly the place to go looking for a meaningful relationship.?

  ?Especially if you’re not looking for one.?Her smile was wry and Rob lit a cigarette.

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  ?Ooh, that hurt. I’d forgotten about that-brain of yours. What are you doing with it these days anyway? Running Microsoft or something??

  That was the strange thing about intelligence. People always expected you to do something grand with it. All the careers advisers at her university had thought so anyway. It was as if what she wanted or cared about didn’t matter. Her brain was everything.

  ?I’m a teacher. Back at Roecliffe.?She shrugged apologetically and hated herself for it.

  He was looking at her with that assessing gaze again, and she found that she quite liked it.

  After a couple of moments, he nodded slowly. ?I bet you’re a great teacher.?Her face clouded over as she thought of Darren and Lee and poor damaged Sharnice.

  ?Well. Maybe not as great as I thought. Those kids involved in the rape case were in my class. I should have noticed something was up with them, but I didn’t. I keep thinking I could have stopped that if I’d just paid more attention.? She sighed. ?So a teacher I may be, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say a great one. Not by a long shot.?Somehow it felt easier talking to him about this than it had to her father.

  Rob was chewing his lip again, and his expression darkened momentarily. ?You know, there are some things that are just beyond our control, however much we wish otherwise. You couldn’t have helped those kids. I don’t think anyone could.?

  For a few seconds he seemed to drift off into his own thoughts, before he brought his attention back to her, the darkness around him lifting again. Just what was bothering him? She wished she knew him well enough to ask. Maybe she would, but not today. Not now.

  Putting her cup down on the breakfast bar, she straightened up, pushing herself away from the tall built-in cupboard she’d been leaning on. It was time to get back to

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  her weekend. Tabby had gone swimming with one of the girls from nursery, but she’d be home soon and probably starving. ?I’d better get going, I’ve got some shopping to do. Thanks for the coffee. It was nice seeing you.?

  He nodded. ?Likewise. And thanks for the news on the funeral. I really appreciate it.?

  He led her to the front door, but paused as he reached for the knob. His voice was hesitant. ?Look, this is probably a crap idea, but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out for a drink or something??He seemed to be struggling for the right words. ?I’d like to see you again.?

  Trying to stop her heart from thumping, she met his eyes warily. ?I’d like that. But just as friends. I’m not in the market for a meaningless fling. Okay??The words sounded harder than she’d meant them to, and it was his turn to look flushed and embarrassed. She thought she could see hurt in there, too. Maybe she had been a little harsh. Pulling the door open herself, she reached up and pecked him on the cheek. ?You can pick me up at seven tomorrow if you like. Number seven, Horsefair Green. It’s been nice seeing you again, Robert Black.? Not waiting for his response, she shut the door behind her, a smile on her face. Not bad for a girl so out of practice, she thought as she headed home. Not bad at all.

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  By midnight most evenings, Streatford is a desolate place; last orders been and gone, all those late-night drinkers whiling away their loneliness, having meandered their way through the chill to the comfort of their own homes, hurried out by weary publicans eager for their beds. Silence rules the darkness, smothering it into submission; the last car having made its way along the winding, narrow streets like a predatory shark patrolling the almost black of the ocean bed, disappearing into the night half an hour past.

  The tarmac and the pavements relax, no weight of passengers left for them to bear, apart from perhaps solitary foxes and not-so-domestic cats seeking adventure in the world that has been abandoned for a while. By midnight in Streatford, everyone has gotten where they’re going; there will be no more traveling of the human kind until the sun rises and brings a new day masked in the safety of the light.

  It seems that the houses lining the centuries-trodden roads, those buildings both old and new, loved and

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  unloved, slump forward and doze like dogs sleeping with one eye open, careful not to disturb their occupants, as they lean on each other for support, surrendering themselves to the memory of so many times gone by.

  The trees whisper in sympathy, their branches aching for children long since grown up, their former presence marked only by words carved in the bark with giggles and penknives. The childish laughter aches in the sap of the oak and the apple and with each bellow of wind, they call out the names they bear on their ageless bodies, silently appealing to be remembered, but knowing that none will return. No memories will be relived.

  In the stillness of the night, they take comfort from the knowledge that new children will come, new families to be loved. People come and people go, time different for them than for the bricks and the wood. But people there always will be, there always have been. And they will care for them. All of them.

  By one o’clock, the town has settled into its slumber, content with its lot, a happy community, secure in its place.

  Just one house, a forgotten place aching with need, dreams loudly in the night. It wants to be remembered, needs to be remembered. Its hurt makes it angry, and its dreams will be heard.

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  By three o’clock in the morning, Judge Matthews’s house looked as if winter were arriving from the inside out, the white powder having settled like a dusting of snow resting comfortably as it covered the carpets and furniture, creating a strange, white landscape, foreign and unnatural. Empty tubular cartons carrying various brand names were tossed carelessly about the living room, their loads dispatched, the thick cardboard shells no longer required.

  In the kitchen, the fridge door stood open, no cargo left to chill, the cupboards also bare save for the powder that covered every corner of the house like overgrowing moss.

  Ernest Matthews stood by the patio door in his gray underpants, whose baggy form clung precariously to hip bones that threatened to tear through the thin layer of tired skin. Staring out through the glass, his bloodshot eyes didn’t waver as he scratched furiously at the red, irritated blotches that covered his body. There were lights blazing at Syracousse. Not that it was possible of course, but there they were, and he had a feeling they were shining out just for him. Just so he’d get the message. His skin

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  burned from where he’d rubbed the ant powder in, but that couldn’t be helped, precautions had to be taken. His mouth moved constantly, unconsciously, words forming silently, unheard.

  He hadn’t bought the ant powder at O’Neale’s. He’d tried of course, but he’d read the young man’s thoughts straight from his face, the minute he’d asked. CaroleAnne Bradley, that’s what had run through his mind. CaroleAnne Bradley. So instead of waiting for a reply, Ernest had just scurried out of the shop. Young O’Neale hadn’t called him Your Honor either as he’d stared, uncertain of quite what to do. In fact, he hadn’t called him anything at all. Ernest Matthews’s life was slipping away from him—being torn away from him—in more ways than one.

  In the end he’d walked to Dulverton, to less cautious shopkeepers, to fetch his necessary supplies. His slippers had been worn through when he’d got back, his soles bleeding into the pavement beneath him, as he slammed the door shut behind him, wary of Daisy’s concerned observation from behind her spotless lace curtains. He had begun to hate Daisy. Hate her for the proximity of her normalness. Everything on her side of the wall was just fine. Syracousse had no business with her.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw something black running down the curtain. He remained still, his mouth moving, twitching into an echo of a smile. His mind was suffering a moment of clarity. So the ants were still here, nestling in the nooks and crannies above him, safe from the deadliness below. He wasn’t really surprised. Nothing surprised him anymore, and his tired, crazed body was unaware of the tear that trickled down his cheek, free to run the length of his emaciated body before its own life wore out, vanishing to nothing at the end of its tiny trail, somewhere midway down his chest.