It’s silly, I know, but I pull a black and white striped top out of the wardrobe this morning. Dreaming about Paris last night has made me long for the effortless chic the Parisian women all seem to pull off, and if I feel good on the outside maybe I’ll feel better on the inside. Ignoring my usual perfume, I spray Chanel Nº 5 onto my wrists but the floral scent makes my stomach roll. I am so nervous about seeing Tom and Amanda today. How must they be feeling on the first of Callie’s birthdays without her here?

As I apply my mascara there’s a knock on the front door making me jump, and the wand slips, streaking my cheek with black that matches the shadows under my eyes. Last night I’d tossed and turned in bed for hours and every time I came close to dropping off anxiety nudged me awake, sending me skittering to the front door to check it was locked. That if there was anyone watching me they couldn’t get in.

The knocking comes again and I hesitate before I answer but if I’m ever going to get over this Secondary Traumatic Stress I have to start somewhere, and it seems unimaginable that anything bad could happen with the sun streaming so brightly through the windows. I pull the door open as I rub at my cheek.

‘Nathan!’

‘Sorry.’ He doesn’t smile. ‘I know I shouldn’t just turn up unannounced and we weren’t supposed to meet until Monday.’ He stares at his feet.

‘Do you want to come in for a minute? I’m going out in half an hour but…’

‘Where did you say you were going today?’ He steps over the threshold and I am uncomfortable at him standing in the hallway, in the place Sam once stood. I am not sure how I feel about him in the cold light of day. I don’t know what’s me and what’s Callie any more.

‘Are you OK?’ I study him, avoiding his question. ‘You look shattered.’ He hasn’t shaved and the whites of his eyes are streaked red.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

He can’t quite look at me, and after a beat I ask: ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Last night.’ He clears his throat. ‘I hadn’t planned on that happening. It felt right though. To me. But today…well, today is a difficult day. It would have been Callie’s birthday, and I can’t help wondering if I’m a terrible person. I’d hate for her to think I was forgetting her. I like you, Jenna, I really do, but I feel so bloody guilty.’ His shoulders begin to shake, and I step forward and pull him into a hug and we remain standing, arms wrapped around each other, hearts beating together, for the longest time. When we eventually pull apart he asks: ‘Can I have a glass of water?’

‘Of course.’ I swivel and head towards the kitchen, Nathan trailing me, but as I approach the door I see Callie’s face smiling down from my walls, the mind map on my fridge, and I stop so suddenly Nathan crashes into me. I turn, trying to block his view but he is frowning and I don’t know if it’s too late. What has he seen?

‘Why don’t you wait in the lounge. It’s a mess in here.’ I point down the hallway.

‘Washing up everywhere is there? It’s OK. We’ve all got bad habits, haven’t we?’ He sidesteps, trying to get past me and I block him, take a step forward, forcing him to step back.

‘Please,’ I say putting my hands on his chest, and his eyes narrow as he looks over my shoulder, and I push him backwards.

Nathan is sitting on the sofa in silence when I hand him his water, and I hope he doesn’t notice how much my hand is trembling.

We don’t speak, each of us lost to our own thoughts but as he leaves the kiss he gives me on my cheek feels forced, or is it just my imagination?

* * *

‘Come on in, Jenna,’ Tom says but his smile is fleeting, quickly replaced with an expression of unhappiness he can’t hide. The lounge is stuffier than normal and it feels as though there is something tight squeezing my lungs as I cross the room to greet Joe and kiss Amanda hello.

‘How did you get on at the cemetery?’ I ask

‘There were silk flowers on Callie’s grave,’ Amanda says. ‘She would have loved them. Nathan must have put them there. I’m so glad he hasn’t forgotten her.’

‘I’ll make some tea,’ Tom says.

‘Why don’t we go out? Have a bit of a walk?’ I suggest, longing to escape the trapped, stale air.

‘Out? Again?’’ Amanda looks stricken at the thought, and I squeeze her hand.

‘We could go to the park?’ Tom says. ‘Callie would have liked that.’

‘OK,’ she says.

‘It’s really warming up outside. You might want to change out of your jumper,’ I say, and Tom takes her upstairs to get ready.

When they leave the room, I turn to Joe. ‘Have you heard from Sophie today?’

‘No,’ he says.

And it’s the way his face sags that makes me blurt out: ‘I’ve been trying to find her.’

‘What? Why?’

The question throws me and I fall silent but he leans towards me and I know I have to explain. I speak, tentatively at first, explaining how much I want to help but I feel as though I’ve strayed on to shifting sands, watching his expression, gauging his reaction. Without meaning to I tell him about the pub, the police; the words falling from my lips as I stumble over sentences in a rush to get it all out before Tom and Amanda return. When I’ve finished, he leans back in his chair and rubs his hand across his face.

‘I know you mean well,’ he says. ‘But that pub doesn’t seem like the sort of place you should go. I’m surprised Sophie did quite frankly. Neil sounds as though he could be quite dangerous. And this Sara at the dentist? She was sure that’s where Sophie went? The one on Green Street? There’s a Prince of Wales in West Creaton too. That one is nice and it would have been nearer for Sophie.’

I hesitate. Had I got the wrong pub?

‘Look I’ll go and check it out myself but…’

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Tom sticks his head around the door and tells us they are ready to leave.

* * *

At the park Amanda is on edge, her eyes darting around. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must be to step out into the world after being cooped inside for months. The brightness. The noise. I wonder if it’s too much for her. Tom raises his face to the sun. It’s a glorious day. Multicoloured kites float against a backdrop of brilliant blue sky, their tails flapping in the breeze. The squeals of happy children blend with birdsong and the smell of freshly cut grass. Tom sneezes.

‘Hay fever,’ he says blowing his nose. ‘Sophie was the same. Always sniffing.’

‘Callie would have loved it here wouldn’t she, Thomas?’ Amanda says.

‘She would. She loved the outdoors,’ Tom tells me. ‘She always covered up though in long sleeves and skirts; she thought she was fat. I don’t know why. She had a lovely figure. Sophie practically lived in a bikini in the summer. A beanpole that one. Do you like the sun, Jenna?’

‘Yes, although I have to be careful of my skin with the medication I’m on. I’m using plenty of sun cream.’

‘Remember the birthday picnics we had with the girls?’ says Joe. ‘We always finished with a 99. I’ll go and get us some.’

Tom and Joe head up the hill towards the pink van, giant ice cream cone on its roof, and Amanda and I sit on a wrought iron bench overlooking the pond.

‘It is warm, isn’t it?’ Amanda fans her hand in front of her face. ‘I wish I’d asked for a drink instead of an ice cream.’

‘Do you want some water?’

‘Yes. Please.’

I trudge towards Tom and Joe. They are engrossed in conversation at the back of a queue that snakes around a huge oak tree and I slip behind them, grateful for the shade. I am about to ask them about the water when I realise they are arguing. Tom snaps: ‘Stop it, Joe. We’re brothers. You can’t change the past… Jenna!’ His voice softens to his usual tone as he notices me. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Amanda would like a bottle of water,’ I say.

‘Of course. It’s turning out to be a belter, isn’t it?’ He pulls his collar away from his neck. I walk back down the hill and as I turn around Tom and Joe aren’t arguing any more. They are standing stiffly. Arms folded. Not saying anything at all.

* * *

Shielding my eyes against the sun I watch ducks peck at soggy bread thrown by mums and toddlers.

‘Callie used to love feeding the birds,’ Amanda says. ‘One year she wanted a swan princess party. I couldn’t find a costume to buy and Tom was working all hours so Joe bought feathers from a craft shop and stuck them onto cardboard to make her some wings. I’ll never forget her face.’ She breathes out, slow and deliberate and I take her hand.

‘Tell me about the party.’

‘It was—’ She stops and clears her throat as though unused to the sound of her own voice. ‘It was at home. Pass the parcel. Traditional games. We didn’t have much when they were small. A couple of years ago we took them to Fortnum & Mason for afternoon tea and then to a West End show. And last year we flew to Paris. I never spent my birthdays in England when I was young and I wanted them to experience the same thing. The excitement of spending your special day in a different country, but to be honest all they talked about were the parties they had as kids. The time Sophie tried to pin the tail on the donkey but stuck a drawing pin into Joe’s thigh instead. I don’t think it really hurt. She didn’t push too hard but he’d hopped around on one leg, screaming, making the girls roar with laughter. I wanted to give them everything but it rained in Paris. We took a boat trip down the Seine and it was freezing. Not the memories I wanted to create. Callie must have liked it, I suppose. She went back there with Nathan a few weeks later.’

‘I think birthdays are always more exciting when you’re young. The anticipation. We grow out of that, don’t we?’

‘Maybe but I felt I always let them down. I never gave them enough.’

‘All a child needs is a mother’s love,’ I say wincing at how trite the words sound.

‘I have a bucket full of love, and no one to give it to.’ A film of tears glazes Amanda’s eyes, and I slip my arm around her.

Peals of laughter pierce the air and we both look to our right. Playing tag on a patch of grass the colour of wine bottles are two small girls, matching denim dresses, and I feel Amanda’s shoulders rise as she sharply inhales. Her eyes follow them as they chase each other, but it’s not them I’m watching. Behind them, on a bench shaded by trees, dappled sunlight obscuring his face, is a figure, black hood drawn over his head. I stare at him, and his head tilts to the side as if he knows I am looking at him but he doesn’t move.

Tom and Joe return with half melted ice cream trickling down the side of waffle cones, and Joe tries to make conversation but Tom and Amanda are transfixed by the girls, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the figure. We finish our ice creams, and as we stand, he does too.

We walk towards the exit; Tom and Joe are discussing the fish in the lake, but I don’t pay proper attention. I can’t help looking over my shoulder, the girls are still playing, the man has disappeared and I crane my neck, trying to see past the trees that flank the path, as though he might be hiding. Was he ever there at all?

‘Are you OK, Jenna?’ Joe asks.

‘Fine, thanks,’ I say, but I’m not. In spite of Vanessa explaining Secondary Traumatic Stress to me, my fear is spreading like the ripples on the duck pond, and I can’t seem to still it.