She brushed the familiar black wood with her fingers. She’d lived here for so long she knew every knot and whorl, every grain in the surface, every loose floorboard in the hallway, every cracked tile in the bathroom. The dent in the living-room wall where the Wii remote had flown out of Logan’s hand, narrowly missing Ben and the television. The stiff drawer on the wardrobe in her room where he’d stuffed a piece of Lego into the mechanism. Her home was made up of a million reminders, its character shaped by the people who had lived in it. The house at Inchcolm Terrace must be the same. What did Sam and Libby know about that place that no one else did, what secrets did they have from the world?She closed her eyes and imagined the front door opening, Logan bustling past with his bag and a banana in his hand, in a rush to get to school. No time to chat, hardly even looking up, that eternal teenage hurry, locked in a world of his own importance.She opened her eyes, unlocked the door and stepped inside.‘Honey, is that you?’ Ben’s voice from the kitchen.
