“That was accidental,” he says.
I blink.
“What?”
“It being in the post.”
I laugh.
A startled, disbelievingsound.
“I did not assume you deliberately staged Heath beside a cake as a cry for help.”
“Good.”
“But the frame itself was not accidental.”
“No.”
There it is again.
No hiding.
No excuse.
Just no.
I stare at the city.
“Why that picture?”
I ask it before I can stop myself.
Another pause.
Then Mark says quietly, “Because you’re laughing in it.”
My breath catches.
Of all the answers.
Of all the things he could have said.
That one.
Mark continues, voice low.
“You looked…” He stops.
Starts again.
“Happy.”
I close my eyes.
Whitstable sea wall.
Wind.
