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Alice sighs, picturing Nadia's room full of biscuit-colored cushions and boxes of luxury tissues. Therapy is the last thing she feels like. All her attempts to move forward, to deal with her grief...none of it has stopped this day from happening.

“Maybe call in at Ellen's afterward for a coffee?” he continues. “She mentioned you'd be welcome...”

He's trying to keep her busy. Annoyance flares but it doesn't last long; it never does with Peter. She glances at the photo pinned to her fridge—him and Robbie pulling stupid faces, never able to just smile nicely, please!—and she knows that none of the anger writhing under her skin is for her brother.

He hugs her tightly, pausing as if he wants to say more. She sees all her fear and anger mirrored back at her, though his face is almost completely still.

After he's gone, Alice grips the edges of her kitchen table, wanting to scream. Beech pads over and nudges his snout against her arm, so she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his fur instead.

Lifting her head, she sees her phone lit up on the table in front of her. She picks it up in the anxious, almost suspicious way she checks all her messages these days. It's a text from Marianne. Her name on the screen, once so familiar, now feels like a curveball from the past.

Of course I'll come, she writes. Thank you for inviting me.

Alice frowns in confusion, then scrolls upward and remembers. Robbie's memorial. It's the day after tomorrow. A flush of shame comes over her as she realizes Leo's release has pushed it out of her head.

The link says RSVP to someone called Georgie. Is that right? Marianne adds. Who is she?

And then: Has Peter said how he feels about me being there?

Alice puts down the phone without replying. She has little idea what happened between Peter and Marianne. It wasn't just Alice who crumbled after Robbie's death: Within months of that horrific New Year's Eve, her brother retired abruptly from the police and then announced that he and Marianne were separating. Have you ever thought maybe you should see someone? Alice has challenged him more than once, when he's been nagging her to keep up with her therapy. We're not talking about me, is always his full-stop of a reply.

Alice doesn't know what to tell Marianne about Georgie, either. She was touched when Georgie first suggested the memorial, if a little surprised it had come from her, the only person in the village who never knew Robbie. Then when she offered to organize the entire thing, insisting Alice would have nothing to do except be there, she breathed out and thought, Yes, let's do that, let's make this Christmas about Robbie, not Leo. Now, though, it feels impossible. What if—her whole body clenches—what if Leo turns up? Will she need a bouncer at her son's memorial service? It's a ridiculous image, but this is everything she's feared: Leo stamping on Robbie's memory with every step he takes through the village.

The thought drives her into her study. She barely uses it anymore, since the university let her hide away on an indefinite sabbatical, but she sits at her desk and opens her laptop. The draft email to Chrissy waits in her outbox. Alice knows she should run it past the pub committee, but her blood is pumping now, her skin prickling as if Leo is breathing down her neck.

Impulsively, she adds a final sentence.

Although we cannot impose any restrictions beyond this, we also ask, on behalf of the village, that you consider the effect of your continued residency here.

She hits send, then presses her hands against her face. It isn't enough. Nothing is enough.

Alice takes Beech for a walk in Cromley Woods, trying to expel her tension with long, brisk strides over the frozen ground. Her route home takes her across the village square, past the row of shops and the giant Christmas tree. All her senses are heightened, looking and listening out for Chrissy or Leo. She stalls when she notices lights glowing from inside the pub. Somehow, she didn't expect Jack to be working on the renovations today, or any of the committee to be there.

She hesitates, then walks over to peer through the front windows. The place looks empty, despite the light bouncing off the dark wooden bar top, casting shadows on the freshly painted walls. She tries the door but it's locked, and she hasn't brought the right set of keys. A memory flies at her—Robbie on the floor, Leo standing over him—and she leaps back with an intake of breath. She told herself not to come here today. Calling to Beech, she turns and flees toward home.

Back in her study, she steels herself and checks her email. She isn't expecting a reply from Chrissy, but she itches for something, a reaction, a sign that she's been heard. There is nothing. Her hands flex in frustration and she clicks on her web browser instead. When an open tab fills the screen, she rears back, sending the desk chair skidding.

Leo's face.