‘I must go,’ I blurt out, skirting around Tom and Joe. I pick up my bag from the floor and loop it over my shoulder.

‘Jenna, I’m so glad you came.’ Tom takes both hands in his. ‘Now, you must let Joe drive you home. It’s such a long way on the bus and you’re looking really tired.’

‘It’s fine, I don’t—’ I step towards the door.

‘No. Really. He only came to drop off Amanda’s repeat prescription. You don’t mind do you, Joe?’

There’s a pause as Joe studies me, and there’s nothing to hear but the ticking clock before he eventually says: ‘Of course. You’ll have to direct me though.’

‘I don’t really know the way from here.’ There’s no way I’m admitting to having Google Maps on my phone. I don’t want to sit in awkward silence with Joe in the car. ‘It’ll be easier on the bus.’

‘I think there’s one of those satnav thingys in one of the boxes of Callie’s upstairs. We bought her it for Christmas,’ Tom says. ‘I’ll nip and fetch it. I need to check on Amanda again anyway.’

‘No, please…’ but he’s gone, and my stomach tightens as I wonder whether he will notice I’ve opened a box and I try to remember whether I pushed the flaps back down again. Lost in thought I jump as Joe speaks.

‘I don’t know how much you heard. Before.’ He gestures towards the lounge door, and as his stare penetrates me I can’t help telling the truth.

‘Someone said “she can’t find out”. I wasn’t eavesdropping.’ My tone is defensive. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘We were talking about you,’ Joe says, and I am momentarily thrown.

‘Tom didn’t want you finding out I didn’t agree with you coming here. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s just…’ He glances at the floor before raising his head. ‘I wasn’t keen, I have to be honest. When I heard… you know. The thought of Callie being all cut up. I was furious when Tom got your letter. It felt really selfish you contacting them, without their consent, especially when they are so deep in grief.’

‘I am so sorry.’ I sit down heavily on the sofa and drop my head into my hands.

‘It seems to have given him a lift though. Hearing from you. Growing up, I always tried to protect Tom, and I’ve felt so helpless watching him go through this. It feels like I’ve failed as a big brother,’ Joe says. ‘When Tom received your letter it was easy to direct some of my anger towards you.’

‘I just wanted them to know a bit about me and my family, make the letter more personal. We’re all so grateful. I hoped it might help you too. In some small way. I didn’t think…’

‘It’s not always easy to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, is it?’ The cushion I am sitting on shifts as Joe sits next to me. He smells of cigarettes. ‘I only thought about what we were losing, not about what some faceless person could possibly gain, but now I’ve seen you it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t be here without Callie, and I feel really proud of her. She was so kind. It’s what she would have wanted.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ His graciousness leaves me with a heaviness that feels a little like shame and I don’t know what else to say. I am glad when Tom returns.

* * *

I’m twisting around in my seat, waving goodbye. Tom is standing on his step getting smaller and smaller, and I don’t turn around until he is out of sight.

Joe’s car is old and tired. An ‘I’d rather be fishing’ bumper sticker peels from the back window. The interior is littered with McDonald’s bags and I kick one away, scrunching it against the footwell to give myself more room.

‘You’d think I’d know better, with Tom’s heart attack, but it’s the easiest option, sometimes, when you’re on the road. Feel free to chuck stuff in the back.’

He cracks open both windows and air streams in diluting the stench of stale smoke and fries. I press the button on the Garmin satnav Tom had pushed into my hands as we left, but nothing happens. There’s a charging wire and I push it into the cigarette lighter. The battery light on the side of the unit flashes green.

‘It’s too flat,’ I say.

‘I’m OK for a bit. There’s a pocket map in there if we need it.’

Joe nods towards the glovebox, and I pull the handle.

‘Jelly Babies?’ I lift out the bag of sweets.

‘I used to take the girls out a lot when they were young. Tom worked long hours and Amanda was fraught with two small children and no money to amuse them. We’d drive into the middle of nowhere and fly kites and have races up hills. There was always a packet of Jelly Babies in the car that I’d produce whenever the inevitable “are we nearly there yet” questions started. Over the years I seem to have developed an addiction to the red ones. Not very healthy when you spend as much time in the car as me.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I sell cleaning products to chains of hotels and large organisations. It’s as boring as it sounds but it’s not easy finding a job when you’re classed as middle-aged. After the business folded I wanted something less stressful. I’m told where to go every day and what to say. I don’t have to think but I do hate being away from Tom so much. He’s so busy looking after Amanda he doesn’t look after himself. If I had my way we would both sit by the river all day fishing, but you can’t make a living from that, can you?’

We make small talk until we glide down the slip road onto the dual carriageway. As we pick up speed Joe presses a button and the windows whirr closed, and I smooth my hair down.

‘Can I ask you a question about Sophie?’ I form my words as carefully as I can. ‘Did she die recently?’

‘Die?’ Joe looks at me in surprise. A car horn blasts to our right and his head snaps back to the road, and as he jerks the wheel sharply I fall against the door. We narrowly avoid being hit.

‘Sophie isn’t dead!’

‘Sorry. Amanda said “we lost her too”. I assumed…’ I can feel my cheeks burning. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought…’

‘Sophie’s in Spain with her boyfriend. She was on holiday when Callie had her accident. I had to break it to her over the phone but she said she couldn’t handle the funeral and needed some space to process what’s happened. We all thought she’d be back by now.’

‘Isn’t she in touch with them.’

‘No one has heard a word from her.’

‘Tom says she’s disappeared before?’

‘Yes. After Tom’s second heart attack she couldn’t cope and took off for months. She sauntered back in the door one day as if nothing had happened. It’ll be the same this time I’m sure. She’ll come back, she always does. I do wish she’d get in touch though. I’m not sure where we go after this roundabout.’

I press the power button on the Garmin again and this time it switches on. It doesn’t take long to navigate the options. Buried in one of the submenus is ‘previous routes’. I glance at Joe, he’s leaning forward as he drives, concentrating deeply on the road ahead. Overcome with a desire to find out more about Callie I touch the screen. Where did she like to go? The last known destination is dated days before Callie’s accident. I press ‘go here’ and a map image is displayed. I zoom in. Burton Aerodrome. It’s in the middle of nowhere, and I know it well. For a time, when I was young, we had a German Shepherd, called Fox. She came from a rescue centre Dad had been called out to. Elderly, malnourished and partly bald, she was timid around humans but aggressive around other dogs. Dad was asked to put her down but he’d brought her home instead. Every evening after work Dad would bundle Fox into the back of his car and drive out to the airfield. It had been deserted for years and was so remote there was little risk of bumping into another dog walker.

What could Callie possibly have been doing there?