‘Callie died in a car accident,’ Tom says. Amanda’s face crumples from within as though her cheekbones have been removed, and she begins to rock back and forth on her chair.

‘Do you want a lie-down, Amanda?’ Tom asks and when she nods, too distraught to speak, he gently cups his hand under her elbow and eases her to her feet.

My mind is a riot of thoughts and emotions. Part of me wants to ask Amanda to stay, to reassure her we don’t need to talk about Callie, but the desire to find out more burns hot and bright and eclipses the words I know I should say. Instead, I watch as Amanda shuffles towards the door – Tom’s arm wrapped around her waist as she leans into him – and I listen to the slow thud of footsteps as they traipse up the stairs,

While they are gone, I dash over to the window and yank aside the stiff net curtains before pushing against the window until it opens with a pop. I breathe crisp, fresh air as though I’ve resurfaced after swimming underwater.

The ceiling above me creaks, and Tom’s footsteps thud back down the stairs.

‘It gets a bit much for her,’ he says coming back into the room, his arms full of photo albums, which he piles on the floor, where they topple and slide. Loose photographs are strewn over the threadbare carpet. I drop to my knees and scoop up a smaller version of the photo on the mantelpiece of Callie and Sophie. I am transfixed by it.

‘We got a few done of that one to pop into Christmas cards,’ Tom says. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Thank you.’ I tuck it carefully inside my purse before turning my attention back to the other photos. My chest is tight as I study the pictures of the short life laid out before me. It seems an age before Tom speaks, but when he does his words are slow, as heavy as lead.

‘We’d been to the wedding of the daughter of our old neighbour. Amanda and me, and Callie and Nathan.’

‘Nathan?’

‘Callie’s fiancé. Lovely chap. They had been together for five years. We thought she was too young to move in with someone but he really looked after her. He was so protective. They picked us up in their car that night, and I noticed they didn’t say much on the journey. They were quiet all night too, not that we could hear each other over rubbish the DJ was blasting out. Grime, I think Callie said it was called. Not our cup of tea that’s for sure. It was a relief when they turned down the volume for the hog roast. Amanda and I were hungry but Callie and Nathan said they’d wait for a bit. When we got back to the table they’d gone, and at first I thought they’d be on the dance floor. It was only when the DJ cleared it for the happy couple’s first dance we realised they weren’t. I don’t know how long they’d been gone. We checked the toilets before going outside to see if they’d stepped out to get some fresh air, but their car was missing. I tried ringing them both but neither picked up. That’s when I got worried. It wasn’t like Callie to leave without saying goodbye.’ Tom’s face creases in pain. ‘I never saw her again.’

‘So the accident…’ I stumble over my words. Conscious I might sound insensitive. ‘It happened on their way home?’

‘No. When we couldn’t get them by phone we got a taxi to their house. There was no car but the light was on. Nathan answered the door. He said he’d come home in a taxi because he had a migraine. “I’m not surprised; the music was that loud,” I said. He’d left Callie the car as she’d said she wanted to stay with us. He called her but she didn’t pick up for him either.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nathan was panicking. He wanted to go and look for her but I told him to stay put and ring any of Callie’s friends he could think of – that Sara and Chris she talked about from work, and the hospitals. He didn’t have the car and someone needed to be at their house in case she turned up. We got the taxi to take us home. “Perhaps they’ve had a row and Nathan’s not telling us,” I said to Amanda. “We’d better stay at home in case she comes to ours.” We didn’t know who else she’d have turned to. At school, she had loads of friends but since she’d been with Nathan she didn’t seem to go out much on her own. They were always together. Superglued, I used to say.’

‘Did they argue much then? Callie and Nathan.’

‘God, no. I had never heard him raise his voice, and I didn’t think they’d fallen out, but they were so quiet all evening, and we were trying to make sense of it, you see. Think of all possibilities.’ He pauses and when he speaks again his voice is quieter. ‘When the phone rang my blood ran cold. I just knew it wouldn’t be good news. It was the hospital. Callie had been found on a grass verge at Woodhaven. The car had crashed into a tree. She’d gone…’ his voice cracks ‘She’d gone straight through the windscreen. She was barely alive when we got to the hospital.’ He presses his fingertips against his eyelids as though he’s trying to force an image away.

‘Woodhaven? Is that where the wedding was?’ It is about forty miles away. Me and Sam had driven through it once on the way back from the coast. We had stopped for a cider at a thatched pub on the village green, its garden packed full of wooden benches and brightly coloured sunshades.

‘No. The wedding was in the opposite direction. She had no reason to be in Woodhaven. It’s not as if it was on the way home.’

‘Couldn’t Nathan throw any light on it?’

‘He was inconsolable. And just as confused as us. The police asked us about Callie’s state of mind. As if she might have driven into the tree deliberately.’ The colour drains from Tom’s face. ‘She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, you see. Can you imagine anyone feeling so low they’d do that?’ He’s visibly shaking now. ‘“Not our Callie,” we said; she was happy. We’d have known if she wasn’t, wouldn’t we?’

‘Of course.’ I reach out and touch his arm.

‘I wondered if she swerved to avoid something. Some sort of animal that had run in front of her. That would be typical Callie. Never wanting to hurt anything. There weren’t any skid marks but the police said that’s not unusual when roads are wet.’

Tom opens a brown leather album and flicks to the back and slides out a photo. He passes it to me. ‘This is Nathan.’

I hold it at the edge before resting it on my palm, conscious of my sticky fingertips. Nathan is the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, and as I look at his chocolate eyes, his curly hair, I feel a fluttering deep in my stomach. In the picture, Nathan and Callie are standing on a lawn sprinkled with snow. Behind them is a tangle of plants and bushes, dotted with colour, despite it being winter. Callie’s cheek is pressed against Nathan’s chest as she gazes adoringly at him.

‘Are you still in touch with him?’

‘No. He was completely devastated. Afterwards, I spoke a bit harshly to him if I’m honest. I insisted he must have known Callie wasn’t with us. I practically accused him of lying. Everything got muddled with all the questions the police were asking.’ Tom shakes his head. ‘I didn’t mean it; I know how much he adored her but emotions were running high. I was looking for someone to blame, I suppose. It was awful. We didn’t speak at all at Callie’s funeral, and he didn’t come to the wake. I apologised afterwards. We had a cup of tea a few months ago when he dropped her things off but it was really awkward. He was like a son to me as well, before…’ Tom’s words wobble with emotion.

‘They look happy together.’

‘They were. He thought the world of her. That was their first Christmas together.’

‘Where was it taken? It looks lovely.’ I flip the photo over but there is nothing scribbled on the back.

‘It was taken at home. It was lovely. Callie used to do our garden. She loved being outdoors. Amanda and I were never green-fingered.’

I look towards the small stone courtyard, visible through the patio doors.

‘Not this home, obviously.’ Tom notices my confusion. ‘We used to live in the city centre too. But after Callie, when the business went under, we couldn’t keep up the mortgage payments and we had to move here.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ I can’t believe how much they have been through this past year.

‘There are worse things to lose than money.’ Tom touches my arm. ‘And we do OK. We have a policy from my insurance days that provides a small income, and we had some savings. We get by for now but fifty is too young to retire really, isn’t it? I’d like to go back to work if I could find a job that isn’t too stressful, but I’m considered a dinosaur at my age. I don’t like to leave Amanda on her own either. She’s so fragile.’

Tom takes back the photo, and I turn to the first page of the album. Callie and Sophie, much younger this time, pose on golden sand. The sea sparkles behind them and a burnt orange sun beats down. The sisters could be twins. Shimmering blonde bobs and jade green swimming costumes.

‘They loved the beach. Sophie couldn’t swim but she liked to paddle. They’d bury me in the sand every year.’

The next picture could easily be lifted from a greetings card. Mum, Dad and two gorgeous teenage daughters pose in front of a Christmas tree. White fairy lights glow and silver decorations hang symmetrically from its branches. Callie and Sophie are holding out a plate of gingerbread men.

I can see from the picture that Tom hasn’t changed much. He is a lot thinner now and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes any more, but you can tell it’s him. I have to bring the photo closer to my eyes and scrutinise it before I’m certain it is Amanda. Her face in the photo is fuller, smoother. Her hair rich with honey and caramel highlights. Around her neck, a pendant shaped like a star catches the light; rubies and diamonds sparkle as brightly as Amanda’s smile. When she’d answered the door, I thought she must be in her fifties but I think she must be at least ten years younger than I’d thought. Grief has sucked the life from her.

The last photo in the book is Callie and Nathan. Nathan is wearing a lemon cravat and a cream carnation buttonhole and Callie is elegant in a long red sequinned dress that should clash with her dyed crimson hair, but somehow doesn’t. They’re sitting at a round table. An elaborate floral display stands in the centre but it’s Callie’s face that draws my attention. I look up at Tom in surprise.

He sighs. ‘Her poor face. It’s not very flattering, is it? She’d walked into a cupboard at work earlier. She would have deleted it if she’d seen it but it was the last one we took of her.’

‘This was taken the night she died?’

‘Yes.’

In the picture Callie is angled away from Nathan and her forehead is creased as she stares into space, either lost in thought or looking at something the camera can’t see. Her make-up is thick but it doesn’t disguise her black eye or the angry bruise that covers her swollen cheek.