Something catches my eye at the furthest edge of the field nearest to our garden, beyond the rose archway.
I'm sure I saw a bright flash of light out there near the hedgerow. A camera flash?
The kitchen lights are on and I can barely make out anything on ground level outside. Dusky mauve light blankets everything, merging green hedgerow with shrubs and rocks, making them all a uniform shade of dark. A painter could sweep her dark-tipped brush around the edges of the canvas to project what surrounds the nearest field.
I stare ahead, my hands submerged in the hot dishwater. The warmth spreads up my arms and makes me prickle all over with heat.
I am acutely aware the front door wasn't locked behind my father. Eva is upstairs alone.
As I watch, I see another light appear in front of me, only this one is different, duller, but much bigger.
What is it?
'Mum?'
I spin around.
It is Eva. She holds her phone in her hand, the screen reflects behind me in the window.
I exhale.
'Do you want some help with the dishes?'
'Er – yes. Thanks, sweetheart. You can grab that towel near the cooker and start drying if you like.'
It is clear my daughter expected me to say no; she drags her feet across the floor with a huff to pick up the towel.
It's a relief sometimes when my daughter is so caught up in thinking of herself that she doesn't notice when I feel my anxiety building. I don't like her to see me like that.
Her ignorance can sometimes keep her oblivious to some of mine and Will's disagreements too.
If I'm honest, I'm glad I'm not alone now. I look back up across the fields now and then, worried that something or someone is out there looking back.
Watching.
12
I lie in bed, flitting between activities on my phone but not doing anything in particular. Dad was exhausted after dinner and retired to bed shortly after he got back. Eva was no company either, absorbed in a group chat with her school friends.
I scroll through my Twitter and Facebook accounts trying to find something that will interest me. I visit April's Facebook profile again and read through her last posts. The final few were brief, basically just a few words about where she was going and what she was doing. No personal thoughts, feelings or emojis in sight. Was that a sign things were getting too much? Was she posting hoping somebody would read the signs?
I close her profile and try desperately to keep my thoughts away from anything that will constrict my chest and make me light-headed.
I haven't felt this bad for years. I can't let it get as bad as last time. It would upset me if Eva saw it.
It's almost midnight before Will gets home.
The mattress sags with his weight when he climbs in next to me. I try not to think about the hundreds of faceless people that have slept in this bed over the years, their bodies weary from rambling over the surrounding fields, sweating into the sheets.
I'm still scrolling idly through inane Facebook notifications when Will rolls onto his side to face me. He puts his hand onto my bare thigh. 'I'm glad you're still awake.'
His fingers start tracing circles.
I've missed my husband greatly throughout the evening, but now he is here I'm quite annoyed at him for leaving me for so long.
'Will the dentist be all right to open for business tomorrow?' I ask.
'What? Oh, yeah. They are all sorted. It wasn't exactly a big fix. It just took longer than I expected.'
He withdraws his hand and rubs his eyes.
'It always does,' I say, the words slipping from my lips. I don't want an argument, not tonight.
'It won't always be like this, Hannah. We don't have to save up so quickly for a bigger place either if you don't want to. We can take our time, live a little. But if you want a better house and your dream holiday then we need these bonus hours I am doing.'
'Dream holiday? What are you talking about?'
'Egypt, wasn't it? You were talking about it months ago. It was there on your screen a few seconds ago.'
I glance back at my phone, scrolling back through my Facebook timeline. It takes me quite a while to get through my posts. Underneath a charity fundraiser back in Spring, I find it.
A photo saved from a travel website along with a brief comment saying how much I would love to visit this year and make my dream a reality.
A passing thought I had posted in pixels.
I had completely forgotten I had made the post. Even then, I didn't think anyone would read it closely or make a note of it; I certainly didn't expect anyone to misread it and take it as fact the way Penny had done.
I also hadn't quite realised that anyone can see what I post. I always imagined only my listed friends could see everything, but now realise that everything I have shared has been public the whole time. Anyone could see it.
I look over my other posts whilst I still have the eye of an outsider and decide I haven't shared anything too intimate. Looking through these posts, my life seems so much more successful and glamorous than it really is.
I put my phone down and lean over to give Will a goodnight kiss. He responds and offers me his cheek when I was going for his lips. He then turns over and clicks off his bedside lamp, leaving me to wonder if I imagined the scent of alcohol on his breath.
13
Saturday 17th July 1993
My stomach flutters with excitement. It protests as I try and force down Mum's smoked haddock and dry mashed potato. I'm too excited to eat, but Mum would never let me leave for the cinema on an empty stomach so I behave myself and don't say a word. Not even when I find several bones and find myself having to pick them out of my teeth.
I'll have to spend extra time brushing them before I go. I hope I have factored in enough time.
Another wave of nerves flashes across my tummy. Luckily Mum hasn't noticed anything. She seems distracted lately. April says it is because our parents have fallen out with each other. They hardly ever talk between themselves any more in any case. Even I have noticed. Mum says Dad works too much.
I stack my plate away neatly beside the sink and am allowed to pad upstairs without question.
Yes.
I slip into April's room. She still hasn't returned from Viv and Reg's house. She is lucky, I bet she gets to skip dinner altogether. She will come up with an excuse, tell Mum she has eaten at a friend's house. She does that often and is never picked up on it. Mum gives her so much more freedom. It's not fair.
I drop myself at April's dressing table. Sometimes I like to sit here and, surrounded by all the famous faces on the posters, my reflection likes to pretend to be at some star-studded party. Today there is no time for childish games, however. I need to make myself look older; pretty and attractive like my sister.
Since April already has her hair and makeup done she won't mind me using her crimper. I plug it in and switch it on. Then she can't complain I will be in her way.
I pull bottles, tubes and compacts towards me, opening them all in turn. When I see my pale face looking back at me, however, I'm unsure which products to use. I don't want to look plastered in make-up like I don't know what I'm doing. Mum always says Mrs Hughes wears too much. I see what she means though – April says she looks like an overgrown doll.