crazy enough to name them after their two oldest kids. Does that seem likely to you? It’d explain the strong resemblance, but … no.’
Five children: Thomas, Emily, Georgina, Thomas and Emily. No. That’s not the explanation. Lewis might be weird, but he’s not that weird.
‘Beth, there’s no point contacting Lewis Braid. Seriously. The only way he could give you the closure you want is if he says, “Oh, yeah, my kids exist in two different time streams. They’re simultaneously teenagers and toddlers”. Since we know he’s not going to say that, because it’s factually and scientifically impossible …’ Dom shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ve got a better idea. We can sort this out without any help from Loony Lewis.’
‘How?’
‘By going back to Hemingford Abbots.’
‘What? Really?’ My mood lifts a little. The only thing I can’t face is the prospect of doing nothing at all, which was what I expected Dom to suggest: do nothing, forget about it, assume I imagined the whole thing.
‘Really,’ he says. ‘It’s Sunday, neither of us is working. Let’s do it, and draw a line under this today. My guess is, there’s a brunette woman who looks superficially like Flora living in that house, and she’s got two small kids. If you see them again, you’ll realise … what must have happened.’
‘I’m up for it if you are.’ Is it possible that, a few hours from now, I’ll be saying, ‘I can’t believe I was so certain that three complete strangers were Flora, Thomas and Emily’? If that happens, what should I do? Go to the doctor and get my brain tested? I’m not sure which is worse: seeing the impossible and being the only person who knows it’s real, or not being able to trust my own senses.
‘What about the kids? Our kids,’ I clarify.
Dom pulls his phone out of his dressing-gown pocket and starts tapping out a message. ‘Zan’s got her key. I’ll tell Ben to make sure she’s home before he comes back.’
While Dom has a shower, I go back to his computer, back to Facebook. Is it possible that the Braids aren’t on here at all, any of them? It seems they’re really not. Maybe they were until recently. I heard something on the radio a few weeks ago about people deleting their Facebook accounts because they objected to something or other that the company had done.
I go from Facebook back to Lewis’s Instagram to check he hasn’t posted anything new in the past few hours. He hasn’t. I go to his Twitter page: no new posts there either.
I notice something that I didn’t spot last night: a row of numbers underneath the company-birthday-celebration banner-photo. Lewis’s ‘Following’ number is 432. I click on it, not thinking it will work the way I want it to. Surely I won’t be allowed to see who Lewis is following if I’m not one of his Twitter friends or whatever it’s called.
Unbelievably, there seems to be no such restriction. The screen fills with names, and small pictures of smiling faces. My heart starts to pound. If any other Braid family members have Twitter accounts …
I scroll through as fast as I can. Grinning man, grinning man, cartoon character, business logo, business logo, woman in sunglasses, baseball team …
I force myself to slow down. I can’t afford to miss any account that might be Flora or one of the children.
After a minute or so of doing this, my right hand starts to ache. I take a break to release a couple of trigger points with my left – one of the useful things about being a massage therapist is knowing exactly where to press, on the parts of my body that I can reach.
Once I’ve smoothed the ache away, I scroll down again and almost immediately find what I’m looking for. Thomas Braid is on Twitter. He’s tomtbraid2002. The ‘t’, I remember suddenly, is for Tillotson – his middle name and Flora’s surname before she married Lewis.
2002. Thomas’s birth year. Making him seventeen now.
He has fewer followers than his father – only twenty-seven. He also hasn’t put anything up on his page since June last year, when he reposted something from someone called ‘Bav’ saying, ‘If you hear them chat shit about me, remember there will have been a time I was good to those goons’.
A lot of Thomas’s followers look similar to him: long-haired surfer types. Oh – and here’s Emily Braid, who of course follows her brother. I click on the