A low breath of sound.
“Of course she was.”
“She also maintains your chest has become a public service.”
“Your sister is terrifying.”
“She really is.”
That gets another small laugh.
The tension eases by half an inch.
Not enough.
I grip the phone tighter.
“She noticed the Whitstable posts.”
Silence.
When Mark speaks again, his voice has shifted.
“Right.”
I sit up straighter.
“You knew she’d notice eventually?”
“No.”
“But you knew there was something to notice.”
Another silence.
I hear him move.
Then a cupboard shutting.
Then, “Philip…”
I stand and cross to the window because suddenly sitting feels impossible.
“I didn’t call to interrogate you,” I say.
“Okay?”
I press my forehead briefly to the cool glass.
This was easier in my head.
Everything is easier in my head.
On the phone there are breaths. Timing. The risk of saying the wrong thing and not being able to edit it before it lands.
“She noticed the dates,” I say.
“Mm.”
