When Cathy heard the front door closing, she stormed out into the hall: ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Lyndall, who’d been intent on laying her keys softly down on the table, jumped. ‘I asked you a question. Where have you been?’ ‘But I left a note.’ ‘Yes, and I saw your bed was empty long before I found your note. Why did you sneak out like that?’ ‘I wrote you I was with Jayden.’ ‘Jayden’s turned into a bodyguard, has he?’ She heard her voice rising. ‘We weren’t in danger, Mum. It was getting light.’ ‘Getting light! Getting light! You think that’s going to keep you safe from . . .’ And now she heard a voice inside telling her to stop it. ‘From . . .’ ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I heard you up and down all night, so when I saw you were sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you.’ Hearing how shaky Lyndall sounded, Cathy calmed down. And it was true, she had had a terrible night. Every time she’d closed her eyes she’d been assailed by images – of Ruben’s head lolling back, or of his slack body being worked on by the paramedics, or of that sheet covering a face that no longer looked like his.
