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‘Stephanie is always in here,’ Barbara said, tapping her own head in the same place. ‘And they always will be. The thing to do is keep busy. Eventually, the memory will fade. You’ll meet someone, get married, have children, and when you think of him, you’ll be surprised that ten years have gone by.’
‘I’m not sure if I can believe that right now.’
‘Maybe not right now, but you will. I know it.’ She smiled. ‘Looking back, sometimes it seems incredible that twenty years have passed. Other times, it seems like only last week. When I think of the days following Stephanie’s body being found, I wonder how I ever managed to get through it. How did I attend the funeral of my own teenage daughter without collapsing? But I did. I made it out the other side. I survived. It’s what we do.’
Downstairs, the front door opened. We both listened. We could hear voices as the door was closed.
‘Barbara, are you in?’ Harry called out. ‘I’ve got Terry with me.’
‘Oh God,’ Barbara said.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes. Fine.’
‘I should probably go,’ I said, after seeing the look of worry on Barbara’s face.
‘I’ll show you out.’
We went downstairs, Barbara leading the way. In the living room, Harry was taking off his coat and gloves. Next to him was the man I presumed was Terry. He was tall and very slim with a mound of tangled brown hair. He wore black trousers, scuffed shoes and a white shirt that had been washed so many times it was almost grey.
The smile on Harry’s face dropped when he saw me.
‘Harry, Dawn just popped round again to say hello.’
‘Did she? What were you doing upstairs?’
‘I was showing her Stephanie’s room.’
‘Why?’
‘I asked if she wanted to see it. She was interested.’
‘I bet she was. Sorry, Terry, you won’t have met Dawn, will you?’ he said, with resounding sarcasm. ‘Dawn, believe it or not, is Dominic Griffiths’ daughter.’
Terry’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Oh.’
‘Yes, we said something similar when she just turned up on our doorstep last week.’
‘I should probably be going,’ I said, edging out of the living room.
‘Harry, there’s no need to be rude.’ Barbara gave her husband a sharp look. ‘Dawn, there’s really no need to leave. Terry is an old friend of the family, Ian Braithwaite’s son, in fact. He’s a policeman now too, aren’t you, Terry?’
Both men stood looking at me without saying a word.
‘Nice to meet you, Terry. But honestly, Barbara, I really must be off. It was nice to see you again. And you, er, Mr White. Goodbye.’
I was at the front door and pulling it open before Barbara could get there.
‘I’m so sorry about Harry. He’s really struggling?—’
‘Don’t be,’ I interrupted. ‘There really is no need.’
Out on the empty driveway, I noticed there were no new cars in the cul-de-sac. That must mean Terry had come on foot. I got in the car, drove to the end of the road, turned left, pulled over and waited.
It was an hour later, and I was hunkered down in my seat. I was freezing cold, as the icy northerly wind was blowing in through the gaps in the car. It was starting to get dark already as a deep grey sky descended. A few flakes of snow began to fall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Terry come down the driveway, hands plunged firmly in his pockets, collar of his jacket up around his ears and his head down, as he took large strides, heading, I assumed, for home.
