Nothing But Questions

I was hungover.

That's how it starts. Not with a stranger, or a locked door, or a house at the end of a track with no signal. It starts with me, face down on my bed at half eight in the morning, deciding that my sister could wait.

Hannah was going to look round a house, miles from anywhere, with a man she'd never met. She wanted me with her.

You're the witness, she said.

So I sat in the car.

Three years on, our mother doesn't remember that Hannah existed. The police have given me back a box of ...