I wish I could have told Mrs Hughes all this yesterday, but the worst part was the little voice that has erupted in the back of my mind recently suggests it too. The doubt has been lurking in the recesses of my thoughts since Dad called me to tell me what had happened to April.
Being in this house again isn't helping. The décor is different, but it very much still feels the same, especially when I close my eyes. In the dark, April feels so near, as if she could just easily sweep into the room at any moment as she always did and give me a start.
I could convince myself that she is downstairs making herself a sandwich, or sneaking us some of Mum's shortbread from a large glass jar in the kitchen whilst we wait impatiently for Sunday lunch.
I am having a hard time telling myself that she isn't here. That she is really gone.
I take a deep breath, but don't open my eyes.
The door handle squeaks as it opens.
My eyes spring open.
It's Eva.
'Sorry, Mum. I thought you were still asleep. I just wanted to borrow some of your shampoo. The stuff in the bathroom smells funny. I told Granddad he needs to swap it for a different one ... Are you OK?'
She looks at me uncertainly. 'Have you been crying again?
'No, Eva, I'm fine,' I say, turning away from her to rummage in my suitcase and wiping my eyes on the back of my hand as discreetly as possible. 'I just ... I was just thinking about when I was your age in this house, that's all. It brings back so many memories being here again.'
'OK ... Anyway, Granddad made breakfast – bacon and eggs. Dad is there too now. You should eat something so you have enough energy to face the day.'
I smile, suddenly realising how I must sound when I tell her the same thing.
I shower and dress, taking care to add extra concealer beneath my eyes before adding some mascara to freshen up my face. For good measure, I even add a little blusher to add some much-needed colour to my cheeks. Although I'm not sure if Will even looks that closely at me any more to notice.
As I descend the stairs, I am aware of the murmur of voices from the kitchen at the back of the house. As I pass the shoe rack near the front door, I notice blades of grass clinging to the moist edges of Will's boots.
'Morning, Hannah, Sweetheart.'
Dad pulls me in for a clumsy one-armed hug where he sits at the dining table. I see Eva in the conservatory, tapping away on her phone, a plate of forgotten toast on the wicker chair opposite her.
I take a seat next to Will at the table who kisses me briefly on the cheek in the presence of my father and pours me a cup of milky coffee.
'Thanks,' I say with a smile, taking a grateful sip of the sweet, hot liquid.
I set down my cup and look across the table to Dad, who looks as bad as I feel. His eyes are blotchy and his movements seem slower than usual. 'That was good timing, Hannah, Love. I was just going to do some fresh toast, since Will hasn't eaten yet, either.'
'Do you want some help?'
Will gets up. 'I'll take care of it, Tony,' he says, quickly. 'I can find my way around any kitchen.'
He gives me a wink and disappears around the corner. As he does, I notice the bottoms of his taupe jeans are dark with damp.
Will takes his time in the kitchen and I know he is trying to spend as little time as possible with my father. Will has always felt suffocated by family gatherings. His own parents split when he was a child and he hasn't seen his father since. Was claustrophobia the reason he went for an early morning walk?
I look to my father. 'How are you this morning, Dad?'
He shrugs and for a moment he seems like the parent I remember; strong, determined and unyielding. But something flickers in his face and I worry that his facade will give completely and shatter onto the oak table between us.
He takes a deep breath. 'I'm all right, Hannah. As well as to be expected. The Reverend says we have to take each day as it comes. We mustn't get ahead of ourselves.'
I nod. 'Have you heard from Mum at all, this morning?'
'Actually, I have. She rang about an hour ago to vent her anger over how the police haven't caught anyone over ... well, about what happened yesterday.'
'Do they have any idea who was behind it?'
Dad shakes his head. 'Like I told your mother, it's probably just teenagers messing around. They hear rumours and then think they'll be clever. Don't give a hoot who they upset. It's not like when you and April were little. These days, people let their kids loose and then get irate if they get accused of anything. Barbara caught shoplifters in the village store one day a few years ago – had them arrested. The next thing she knows, she gets a brick through the window ... Things are different now, Hannah. We are best leaving it alone if you ask me. I just wish whoever was responsible left us alone yesterday.'
My father looks more tired than ever. I feel more tired than ever. The only way sleep came last night was when Will had finished clearing up downstairs and slipped into bed with me. He lay beside me, our bodies close. He stroked my head and whispered a rhetoric just like my father's; yesterday was just teenagers messing about; a result of village rumours, Chinese whispers.
Dad sniffs. 'Anyway, I told your mother they are doing their best up there in Telford police station.'
'Telford? What's wrong with the village police station?'
'Oh, that shut down years ago – just after old Tom retired.'
He smiles as he looks at me. 'There have been a few changes to the village since you've been away, Hannah. Us old fuddy-duddies don't just sit in suspended animation the whole time you're off in the big city, you know.'
'It's just York, Dad. Not New York.'
'Well, it might as well be. You can't sneeze in this place without the whole village knowing about it.'
'Hmm,' I say, sipping some more coffee and thinking of how April, Will and I used to get told off by elderly villagers for climbing local trees, but how we roamed for miles beyond the boundaries laid down by our parents and not once did we get caught. We crossed all sorts of lines without anyone suspecting a thing.
Will returns with a plate of hot toast, setting it on the table. 'You might like York, Tony. You should come and stay with us some time – we just about have the room if we put up a bed in my loft office.'
I glance across at Dad as I take a tiny rectangle of foil-wrapped butter from the bowl in front of me. Will knows just as well as I, that Dad would never take up such an offer for fear of imposing on us in our two-bedroom terrace.
'Well, that's very kind of you both. But I wouldn't want to be a pain. Best if you come out here for a visit – better for Eva, too, get some fresh air in her lungs. Much more space too – you can visit your old haunts, remember what it was like to be carefree. Maybe we could go for a walk after breakfast. All four of us?'
I'm sure I feel Will stiffen slightly beside me, but I smile. 'Sure, Dad, that sounds nice. It certainly would do Eva good to be away from a screen for a while.'
Eva gives a vague 'What?' from the conservatory at the sound of her name, still not tearing her eyes from her phone.
I find chewing my toast difficult with a dry mouth as I silently pray that there are no more unwanted surprises lurking in the corners of the village. I remind myself that my father needs our support now. That is why we are here. He needs us.