I nod.
Daniel had been violent once.
A punch to the face one evening after a heated row, which fast tracked the ending of our relationship.
I had never gone to the police about it. The guilt over the row that triggered it was too much.
The night Daniel found out about Guy.
Why am I thinking about this now?
Craig gives me a supportive smile and we hug.
He means well, but the conversation has opened something heavier in me. It’s the same look he gave me after Guy died—that quiet, anchored worry.
Back then, I remember sitting in this very flat, half-drunk, looking at a photo of me and Guy on my phone. Craig was the one who told me that grief isn’t something you heal from, it’s something that moves in.
He’d been right. Guy’s death had hollowed me out, made space for other people’s disasters to move in rent-free.
Maybe that’s why I keep trying to fix everyone else—Pete, Emma, even Daniel in some fucked-up way. I’m still trying to save the version of me who couldn’t save Guy.
And my dad, too, in a different timeline of helplessness—his heart, gone too early, leaving me with the belief that men I love tend to vanish.
“We need to think more seriously about Daniel,” Craig says, pulling me back.
But I can’t think about anything like that right now. Daniel is the least of my problems.
“Anyway, I saw Pete today—” I start.
“I thought I told you to stay away?”
“Yes, I know, but then he messaged, and I just wanted to check up on him.”
“Look, I know you want to save him, because that’s what you think you do. I know you have feelings for him. But you need to stay out of this. This is a messy situation. This James guy is dangerous. So, promise me you will stay away for now.”
I pause for a moment. “Yes, okay,” I lie.
“And this Emma as well. I looked into all this to help you to keep you informed about what you’re dealing with. And everything tells me to stay away. So, you need to stay away.”
“Fine, yes I will.” Double lie.
I know Craig has warned me previously about James’s history. The two charges of assault that were dropped. The charge of intimidation that also mysteriously went quiet. And I’ve seen it myself in the videos from the house. My rational brain tells me to give this thing a wide berth, but I just can’t.
There’s a pause for a moment and—
Tell him about Phil and James.
The thought has been whirling around my mind all evening.
If Phil is… what? Seeing James? Meeting him? There is an innocent explanation. There has to be. Except innocent explanations don’t usually come with thundercloud body language on cliff edges.
I decide to start with the bit that doesn’t make me sound crazy. “Craig… how’s Phil? I mean, really.”
Craig levels me with the detective gaze. “He’s fine.”
“Fine-fine or British-fine?”
“British-fine, obviously.”
