Chapter 2 THIRTY SECONDS

Raff I was halfway through arguing with the physio about my hamstring when the changing room went quiet. You learn to notice silence in a football dressing room. It means someone has scored an own goal, or someone's wife has left, or someone has been sold. It does not usually mean a dozen grown men have stopped moving to stare at one phone. "Mate," Bram said quietly. "You need to see this." I nearly made a joke. That is what I do. Joke first, feel later. Then I heard the voice. My brother's voice. "If you're hearing this, it means I was right to be afraid." The towel slipped out of my hand. I did not remember dropping it. Bram was holding his phone up as if it might bite. On the screen was a studio I recognised from a hundred sports panels, and on the sofa, small and pale in a navy dress, sat the last person on earth I wanted to see. Tamsin Penhallow. She looked thinner. Older. Her dark hair was pinned back, and her eyes were doing the thing they always did when she was trying not to cry and refusing to let anyone see it. I used to love that about her. Now the sight of it made me want to put my fist through a locker. "Turn it up," I said. The recording crackled on. Silas sounded tired and hurried, like a man walking fast. "I've spoken to someone at Calder Vale. They know what I know now." Calder Vale. The club where Silas and I had both started. The club that had paid for my first boots and half my childhood. A cold finger of dread slid down my spine. "Don't trust anyone who says it was an accident," Silas finished. "Not the club. Not the family. And look after Raff." The clip cut off. Nobody in that dressing room breathed. Then Tamsin's face filled the screen again, and the interviewer asked, with her sharp little smile, "Tamsin, did you know about this recording?" "No," Tamsin whispered. "I didn't." Liar, I thought, and my hands shook with how badly I wanted to believe her. Because four years ago, I had told the police everything I knew. Dinner, wine, a petty argument about nothing, Silas leaving at nine. I had told that story so many times I could recite it in my sleep. I had never told anyone about the thirty seconds I left out. Thirty seconds on the doorstep of my flat. Silas gripping my arm, saying, "I need you to trust me." Me, stupid and angry, shaking him off and saying something I would give my whole career to take back. Then don't ask me for anything again. Those were the last words I ever said to my brother. My phone started to ring. Then it started to vibrate against the bench, and it did not stop. Agent. Club. Press office. Sponsor. Agent again. "Raff," Bram said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "What was she on about? The call at 11:42?" I stared at the screen, where Tamsin's mouth was still moving, her words dissolving into noise. The truth was, I did not know. Silas had never called me at 11:42. He had never called me at all. Which meant that for the first time in four years, somebody was telling a different story from mine. And the worst part was, I could not tell which of us was lying.