‘Happy birthday to you!’ The people around me sing in unison, holding up beers and glasses of wine. Emma holds the cake up in front of me, with a big beaming smile, like she used to do when I was twelve. A whiff of frosting hits me in the face. I spot Callum pulling funny faces, and I have to force myself not to laugh. 

I blow the candles, counting all twenty-six of them before I do; there’s a chorus of claps and cheers before everyone goes back to what they were talking about before Emma announced it was time to sing.

‘I’ll give you the first slice, darling,’ Emma says, picking up the knife from the table. ‘Gosh I remember those years at parties when you would lick off all the frosting from the fairy cakes and put the cake back. All that sugar used to make you hyper for hours.’

‘I’m not bothered for cake just yet. Save me some for later,’ I say, grabbing Callum’s arm, he’s standing beside me, already holding onto a plate. ‘C’mon.’ I drag him into the garden.    

I glance over my shoulder on the way out, but Emma’s busy chatting to her sister while cutting a big lump of cake. She’d spent all afternoon yesterday making it. I must admit, as much as I don’t like birthdays, Emma is an excellent cake maker and always pulls out the stops when it’s a birthday; she had ambitions to go on The Great British Bake Off years ago but never followed through with it. A memory of my own Mum filters through into head, I’m standing next to her in a big kitchen, my head only coming up to her waist. She’s wearing white clothing. She’s smiling down at me as she scrapes cake mixture in a bowl. I grit my teeth as my aunt’s kids, Milo and Niall head out after us, but they’re too preoccupied with their sticks they’re using as swords, to worry about we’re up to. They’re only eight and mischievous as hell, but sometimes I envy the life they’ve got, it’s something I’ll never be able to have. At least when they go to school, they won’t have everyone staring at them and whispering about them behind their back. They’ve got a normal life ahead of them.

‘You better not be making me miss out on cake, you know chocolate fudge is my favourite,’ Callum says as I pull him to the bottom of the garden where there’s an old swing Michael set up for me, not long after I first got here when I was six. Michael keeps talking about taking it down, but every time he brings up the subject Emma tells him no, and says how wonderful it would be for my children to play on when I have them, which always makes me cringe. There’s no way on earth I’m having kids anytime soon.

‘Oh Emma will save us some I’m sure, well she’ll definitely save me some, but you can have it, if you want.’ We both sit on the two swings; I dig the heels of my shoes into the grass. ‘D’you think we should’ve told that guy to piss off earlier?’

Callum frowns at me. ‘Danielle, do you seriously think he knows something about what happened to your family?’

‘I don’t know . . .’ I bite my lower lip. ‘There was something about him. I don’t know what it was, but to me he just seemed, I don’t know, familiar.’

‘He’s a journalist . . . OK, so he said he wasn’t a journalist, if he’s not one of them tossers then he’s a psychic,’ Callum says. ‘They’re even worse, in my opinion.’

I shake my head. ‘But what if he does know something? It’s been twenty years, Callum. I want to know the truth. You have no idea what it’s like the not knowing. If I at least know the reason why my brother killed them, my parents, then I’ll be able to move on. At least I’ll be able to stop thinking about seeing him. I hate the fact he’s the one who knows the truth.’

‘But you hate journalists; you’ve been telling me that for years. What about that journalist who turned up at your graduation? Emma and Michael had to get that injunction to stop him from publishing those photos of you. And then there are all the nutters you’ve had from the conspiracy websites chasing after you, saying stuff about you online that isn’t true. The moment you allow one of them to talk to you, then the rest of them are gonna come knocking and they won’t leave you alone. They’ll make your life hell.’

‘I just want to see what he has to say.’ I keep my focus on the back of the house. Milo thrashes Niall with a stick who cries out, clutching his arm. ‘Hey, Milo, be careful.’

They both look towards us, seemingly unfazed, before going back to whacking each other again as hard as they can. Their Mum’s going to come running out in a minute to stop them, I’m sure, or perhaps she’s just happy they’re keeping themselves occupied and not causing any problems in doors.

A memory swirls in my mind. I’m sitting on Harvey’s bed; we used to share a room, from what I can remember, when we were very young. I shiver. He’s reading to me, the book’s The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, it used to my favourite. There are adult voices downstairs. We were never allowed to join in with the adults. Even now, I still can’t think of that story without thinking of Harvey and what he did.

Callum sighs. ‘If you wanna talk to him, I’m not gonna stop you. But I think it’s a bad idea. Perhaps knowing the truth might be worse. It might make you angrier. How are you going to even contact this bloke anyway, we told him to sod off, remember? It’s not like he left us with his contact details.’

‘I’m sure if he’s desperate to tell me something then that’s not going to be the last time I see him.’

I think back to the way he looked at me; his eyes as though they were pleading with me, begging me to hear him out. The journalists, who’ve approached me in the past, have been so blasé about who they were; I’m from the Daily Mail; I’m from the Express, as if somehow they were trying to go out of their way to impress me. The first thing this man said to me was that he wanted to know how I was. No other journalist has ever asked that question before.

‘What are you two doing out here, being unsociable?’ Michael shouts from the back of the house, holding onto a half empty bottle of Peroni. Milo and Niall scatter to the other side of the garden. ‘Everyone’s here to see you, Danielle.’

I sigh. ‘Yeah, just coming.’ Michael slips back into the house. ‘I s’pose we better go and mingle.’

I’m about to get off the swing when Callum grabs my arm. ‘Danielle, promise me that before you even think about talking to this guy, you’ll call me. I really don’t like what’s going on here. Tell me you’ll call me before you try and see him again.’

Callum’s staring at me with big, pleading eyes. I nod. ‘Of course I will, Callum, you’re my best friend. We don’t keep secrets from each other, remember. Let’s go.’ I give him a reassuring smile.

We climb off the swings and trudge back towards the house. Part of me thought, when I contacted Harvey earlier this year, and he refused to see me yet again, that I wouldn’t bother in the future. This would’ve been his last chance. But I need to know why he killed our parents. I want to see the reaction in his face when I ask him. Perhaps, whoever this person is, who spoke to me today, they might be able to help me find those answers. His words from earlier fill my mind again, making me shudder. Jeremiah knows something, I’m sure of it.