‘They might have been in Florida at some point but they aren’t any more,’ I tell him. ‘While I was parked outside their house in Hemingford Abbots, a car drove in through the gates. Flora got out.’
‘I don’t know who these people are, but maybe they’ve split up,’ says Zannah. ‘He’s in Florida, she’s here.’
‘Zan, please, can you let me talk to Dad alone?’ If she hears what happened, she’ll either be worried about me or scathingly sarcastic; I want to avoid both.
She looks disappointed, but, for once, doesn’t argue. We listen as she stomps back up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom.
‘I suppose they might have moved back,’ says Dominic.
‘To the same house? It’s the same address they gave us when they left Cambridge twelve years ago: 16 Wyddial Lane.’
‘They could have rented it out while they went to Florida temporarily. Either way, I’m not sure why it matters. To us, I mean.’
‘The children haven’t aged,’ I blurt out, aware how ridiculous it sounds.
‘What?’
‘Thomas and Emily. They should be seventeen and fifteen. Right?’
‘Sounds about right, yeah.’
‘I saw them, Dom. Flora opened the back door of the car and said, “Thomas! Emily! Out you get!” in a stupid sing-song baby voice, and I thought “Who talks to teenagers like that?”, and then the children got out of the car and they weren’t teenagers. They were little children.’
Dom looks confused. Then he laughs, but tentatively – as if someone might stop him at any moment.
‘Beth, that’s impossible.’
‘Yeah. It is, isn’t it? I didn’t see Georgina …’
‘Who?’
‘Their youngest.’
His eyes widen. ‘Shit – you know, I’d totally forgotten they had a third.’
This doesn’t surprise me. Lewis and Dom were never as close as Flora and I were. Dom probably hasn’t thought about the Braids much since we last saw them.
He smiles. ‘Remember the two-thousand-pound changing room, in Corfu? That’s something I’ll never forget.’
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me they’d moved to Florida.’
‘Why would I? I deleted the message and forgot about it. We hadn’t seen them for years.’
‘Since Thomas was five and Emily was three.’ I can’t help shivering as I say it, despite the heat. ‘Which they can’t still be.’
‘No, they can’t.’
‘But, Dom, theyare. I saw them. I heard Flora call them by their names, I saw their faces. Emily was wearing her “Petit Mouton” T-shirt. You won’t remember it, but … Thomas’s clothes were the same too. It was them – today, but exactly as they were twelve years ago. And other things were wrong, too.’
‘Like what?’
I’m grateful that he hasn’t laughed in my face, and even more grateful when he sits down next to me and says, ‘Tell me from the beginning, the whole story.’
It’s several hours later, and I haven’t woken up yet, so I guess it wasn’t a dream.
Dom, Zannah and I are sitting at our kitchen table. They’re eating Italian food from our favourite local restaurant, Pirelli’s. I’m trying to persuade myself to take a mouthful of the spinach and ricotta cannelloni Dom bought for me. I haven’t felt hungry since this morning. Ben is staying overnight at his friend Aaron’s house, and is the only member of the family who doesn’t yet know what I saw, or what I cannot have seen, depending on your point of view. Zannah knows nearly everything, mainly from sneaking silently downstairs and listening at the lounge door.
After wolfing down a prawn and red pepper pizza, she pushes her plate aside, reaches for her notebook and pen and pulls them towards her. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Let’s list all the possibilities.’
