I’m in the park. The sun’s shining and the leaves are fluttering over my head and casting shadows on the path in front of me. I see Dan in the distance, but he’s not walking towards me, he’s walking towards the park gates.

I shout his name, but no sound comes out. I try to run to catch up with him, but my legs don’t move at all. A flock of pigeons appear and block my view. Once they’re gone, I look for Dan, but I can’t see him. He’s disappeared.

And then I wake up.

---

‘Can you come home?’ Matt says, as soon as I answer my phone.

My stomach drops. ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t want to tell you on the phone. Just… can you come? Today?’

‘You have to tell me, you can’t leave it like that.’

I feel like I can hear him thinking. ‘Right. OK. I’m sorry. Tom did it. He’s been stealing from the business. For years. Mum might lose the house.’

I can’t breathe. There are dots in front of my eyes and I can’t breathe. I feel a hand on my arm and I know it’s Henry. He guides me towards the staff room and then I’m sitting down.

‘Bea?’ Matt says, in my ear.

‘I’m OK,’ I tell him, even though of course I’m not. ‘How’s Mum?’

‘Devastated. She’s thrown him out. Can you come?’

I can’t even think. ‘I’m at work.’

‘It’s fine,’ Henry says. He’s got his back to me and I realise he’s making tea.

‘I can come,’ I tell Matt.

He’s already Googled the train times, so he tells me and I repeat them so Henry can write them down on the kitchen rota on the wall. There’s a pen attached with string to encourage people to fill it in.

‘Where’s Tom?’ I ask Matt.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He was already gone when I got here.’

‘Fuck,’ I breathe.

‘I know. Text me when you get to Stockport and I’ll come and pick you up.’

I hang up the phone and Henry turns and hands me a cup of tea.

‘I need to go,’ I tell him.

‘Just stay there for a minute. I’m going to close the shop.’

‘You can’t,’ I say, but he’s already gone. If a secret shopper turns up and the shop’s closed during business hours, Henry will get fired. But I guess that’s unlikely. I press a hand against my stomach and for a second I think I might be sick, but no. I breathe in the steam from the tea, blowing over the surface. I can smell the sugar.

‘You OK?’ Henry says, coming back and leaning against the units.

‘How many sugars did you put in?’

‘Three. That’s what they say, don’t they? For shock?’

‘I think so.’ I sip tentatively, but it’s still too hot. ‘Tom’s been stealing from the business. Mum’s thrown him out. And she might lose the house.’ I can’t believe I’m even saying it. It doesn’t seem real.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I can’t believe it. All this time. Poor Mum.’ I can’t even think about Tom. I can’t even think about how he’s lied to us all this time.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Henry asks.

I look up at him. His hair’s all tufty where he’s run his hand through it. His glasses are smudged. His cheeks are pink and he’s biting at his lip. Something flutters in my chest, but I shove it away.

‘No. Thank you. That’s really lovely of you. But I’m fine.’

I drink some tea. It’s ridiculously sweet. But good.

‘There’s a train every twenty minutes,’ Henry says. ‘Finish that and then I’ll walk you to the station. Or home. To get your stuff.’

I don’t want to go home. I just want to get on the train and go. I’ve got my bag. I’ve got clothes at Mum’s. I can buy a toothbrush at the station. I just want to go.

‘Honestly, I’m fine. You don’t need to do that. And you should go and open up again. I’ll drink this and then I’ll go. I don’t want you to get in trouble.’

‘You’re shaking,’ he says, reaching out and catching my fingers with his. He only leaves them for a second and then he pulls away. I’m scared to look up at him.

‘I’ll be fine once I’ve had this.’

‘OK,’ he says. ‘But I’m not opening up. I’m staying here. Unless you want me to go?’

‘No,’ I say, finally looking up and smiling weakly at him. ‘You’re fine.’

While I drink the tea, all I can think about it how Tom came into our lives and made us all feel so much more secure. He fitted right in. He made us laugh. There was always so much love in our house and Tom was a big part of that. I can’t bear to think that any of it wasn’t real. I can’t bear to know he’s done this to Mum. To all of us.

---

‘Will you be OK on your own?’ I ask Henry as I leave a few minutes later.

It’s only when I see him smile that I realise what I’ve said. I meant it. I wasn’t joking.

‘I’ll manage,’ he says.

I nod, my hand on the door.

‘Ring me when you get there,’ he says. ‘Or text or whatever. WhatsApp. Not right away, obviously, I know your mum… But I mean, just let me know.’

I nod. ‘I will. And you’ll tell the others?’

‘Course.’

I pull the door open and I’m about to step through it, the bell still jangling above my head, when I feel Henry’s hand on my arm and I turn back. He grabs my other arm and pulls me towards him and I go easily, relaxing against his chest, my arms sliding around his waist. I breathe him in: his face resting on the top of my head, my face against his shoulder, his arms around my back. He’s always given good hugs, but I don’t think I’ve ever had one quite like this before. I pull away when I feel myself starting to tear up.

‘It’ll be OK,’ he says against my hair.

I nod. ‘Thank you.’

And then I leave.

---

The house looks the same as always. There’s a new cat bed, and a fresh coat of paint in the porch, but apart from that everything’s the same. But it feels different. Usually when I come home, Tom picks me up at the station and on the short journey home gives me all the local gossip. He’s in the Rotary Club and does the Parkrun every Saturday morning and spends every Sunday evening in the White Lion on the green. He knows everything. Knew. I guess I have to start thinking of him in the past tense.

‘Tea?’ Matt says, as I follow him into the kitchen.

‘I’ll make it. You make horrible tea. Where’s Mum?’

He fills the kettle. ‘Garden.’

I pass him and go through the conservatory and down the steps to the garden. At first I can’t see her, but then I spot her sitting on the bench under the tree in the far corner. I cross the lawn, stepping on the stones Tom laid just after they bought this house, and sit down next to her, dropping my head down on her shoulder.

‘Hello, darling,’ she says, leaning her head against mine.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

She sighs. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.’

I sit up straight. ‘How were you supposed to know? Phil didn’t even know.’

Phil was Tom’s business partner for twenty years. He was the one who reported him. He’d suspected for quite some time, conducted a bit of an investigation of his own, and then approached Tom with it. But Tom completely denied it. And then Phil had no choice but to report it.

‘He’s devastated. They’ve been friends for so long. He can’t believe Tom’s done this. I can’t believe he’s done this.’

‘Me neither,’ I say.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the train. That it must be a mistake. That Tom would never do anything dishonest, never do anything to risk his and Mum’s home. He’s always been so good. To all of us. From the first time we met him. He’s always been warm and wise and safe and secure and funny and kind. How can that not be real? And how can he not be in our family any more?

‘Have you spoken to him?’ I ask Mum.

‘Phil? A bit, I—’

‘No. Not Phil. Tom.’

‘Oh.’ She sighs. ‘No. He’s texted me. And he sent flowers, ridiculously. I don’t have anything more to say to him, to be honest.’

‘So what happens now? Matt said something about the house?’

As if I’ve conjured him up, Matt comes out of the house and walks down the steps, holding a tray of mugs that rattle as he walks.

‘Oh god,’ Mum says. ‘Did he make tea? He makes bloody horrible tea.’

I laugh for the first time in hours. ‘I said that to him. I was going to do it.’

The three of us sit in the garden, drinking our tea and watching birds fly in and out of the hedge.

‘I can’t believe there’s so many,’ I say at one point. Or that they fly across the garden so quickly and just smash right into the hedge, like they’re ram-raiding it.

‘It’s ’cos of Tom’s fat balls,’ Mum says and then snorts with laughter. ‘Oh god.’ She puts her hands up to her face and I press up against her side.

‘That’s one of the worst things,’ she sniffles from behind her hands. ‘Already. We’ve got so many bloody in-jokes. And now they’re all gone. I’ve lost it all. I can’t believe I’m crying about his stupid fat balls.’

She wipes her face, sits up straight, and drinks some tea. ‘I’m sorry. I keep crying at the most ridiculous things.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, rubbing her arm. I have no idea what to say, no idea what I can do to make her feel better. But there isn’t anything I can do, is there? How could there be?