“A pair but not a couple?”

“Yes. There have been a few times when all three of them have been in school together—Mr. and Mrs. Cater and Yanina—and it’s as if Mr. Cater and Yanina are the grown-ups and Mrs. Cater’s a child, trailing along behind them. More in the same category as Thomas and Emily—like their older sister or something. And those three sort of cling together in a way that’s always struck me as a bit off.”

“Which three? The Caters and Yanina?”

“No. Mrs. Cater and the two children.”

“They cling together?”

“Yes, it’s strange. Like she’s determined to protect them. She wraps her arms around them as if she’s terrified of the world on their behalf.”

My mind is reeling. Flora, terrified of the world? Terrified for her children? She never used to be. She was always very relaxed about . . .

About the other Thomas and Emily?

I can remember her thinking it funny the way her mum used to say, “Aren’t you worried about Thomas crawling upstairs?” and “Aren’t you worried about Thomas sitting so near where you’re cooking?” Flora was a far less neurotic new mother than I was.

“Have you ever heard any of them use the name Chimp, or Chimpy?” I ask. “Flora, Kevin or the nanny? It might be a person’s nickname, or the name of a pet.”

Lou looks blank. She shakes her head.

“What about Peterborough? Does that ring any bells?”

“Not in connection with the people we’re talking about, no.”

“Have you ever heard Flora . . . I’m going to call her Flora, since that’s who she is to me. Have you ever heard her say she’s very lucky?” I’m not sure why I’m asking this, except that I’ve heard her say it twice: once on the phone outside Newnham House and once in the background, the first time Lewis rang.

“No,” says Lou. “She doesn’t look as if she thinks she’s lucky at all, though it’s clear they’ve got pots of money.”

“That’s why you contacted me, isn’t it? You have a sense that something’s wrong in the Cater family?”

“Yes, but . . . I kept telling myself that I must be wrong to think that. Since I’ve known Mrs. Cater, she’s been clingy with her children, and reluctant to have conversations and interactions with anyone who isn’t her child.”

“She was reluctant to talk to you?”

“Always. She was painfully shy and wary. I used to think, ‘What on earth does she think I’m going to do to her?’ I’m the school’s administrative manager, and we’re an all-one-big-family kind of school. I have a lot of contact with families—selling tickets to school shows, fielding people who’ve missed deadlines for trips but decide three weeks later that their child simply has to go. I could say the most harmless, straightforward things and Mrs. Cater would mumble, ‘Ask my husband’ or ‘Tell Yanina,’ and then scurry off. As if she somehow . . . I don’t know. Didn’t want to be there. And I feel awful saying this about such a young child but Thomas’s behavior ever since he joined the school has worried me. He’s such a solitary soul—always on his own, talking to himself as if he’s playing an endless imaginary game in his head, but he never seems lonely. He’s quite content with his invisible wall around him, but if any of the other children or a teacher tries to engage him he clams up.” Lou winces. “He does this strange thing where he sort of presses himself up against the nearest wall and touches it with his hands.”

“Is the school worried about him? Officially?”

Lou’s face hardens. “Nobody apart from me will admit there’s a problem. We’re nonselective, so we’ve got our fair share of special needs kids, and not enough SEN teachers, so everyone’s determined to believe Thomas is just shy and eccentric. He’s not unhappy most of the time, and he’s manageable as long as you know to leave him to his own devices whenever possible. He’s bright and polite, doing well with his literacy, brilliant with numbers—and everyone thinks that means he’s doing fine. Shy is such an easy word, so they all trot it out, but it’s the wrong word for Thomas.” Lou sighs. “I don’t know what the right word is, though, so I’m in no position to convince anyone. And I’d never have dared say it before you turned up and seemed worried about the Caters too, but I’ll say it now: there’s something wrong in the Cater household.”

I want to hug her, but I restrain myself.

“The way Thomas presses himself against walls, and against his mother too. And Emily’s the same. She’s only been in with Mrs. Cater to collect Thomas a few times, but I’ve more than once seen the three of them move along the corridor like they’re glued together. Thomas is quite different with Mr. Cater and Yanina. He never goes anywhere near them.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I say.

Lou’s eyes fill with tears. “Yet I’d decided to put my worries to one side. I told myself I was being over the top. I feel guilty now. But what could I do, when the head teacher and all the other teachers kept telling me everything was okay?”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You must see hundreds of strange families. More strange ones than normal ones, I bet, if my kids’ school’s anything to go by. There are fifteen-year-olds there who have never watched a TV show because their parents think television is the work of the devil.”

Lou smiles.

“So is Thomas still in his first year at the school?”

“No. Second. He’s very young for his year, so when he started with us he’d only just turned four. Too young to start school, if you ask me.”

I can’t remember Thomas Braid’s exact birthday but I know it’s in February. That wouldn’t be considered young relative to other pupils in his year group, or old—just average.

“Did Flora ever chat to other mums? Was she friends with any of them?”

“Never that I saw. She kept herself to herself. Some people are good at projecting an air of self-containment, aren’t they? Especially the dads.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “All dads turn into deaf-mute hermits at the school gates. My husband used to come back from collecting our kids in a mood of actual triumph if he’d managed to avoid being spoken to by any other parent.”

“And those dads know where and how to stand so that no one will talk to them,” says Lou. “Mrs. Cater did too.”

“Did?”

“Does, I mean. Though, now that I think about it, she hasn’t been to drop-off or pick-up in ages. Or if she has, I haven’t spotted her.”

“Has anyone else seen her? Recently, I mean?”

“I haven’t asked them. We’re all so trained to mind our own business, aren’t we? It makes every aspect of life so much easier if we do.”

“What’s your impression of Kevin Cater and Yanina?” I ask.

“I don’t warm to him at all,” says Lou. “I think he’s got too much free time on his hands. No idea what work he does, if any. Which is unusual. With most parents, we find out quite quickly. It comes up in conversation. Mr. Cater can talk and talk—unlike his wife. Sometimes you can’t shut him up. That’s usually when he’s at his most pompous, finding fault with someone or something.”

I roll the words “unlike his wife” around in my brain. They feel so odd. Is Flora really Kevin’s wife? If her relationship with Lewis is over, why was she in Florida with him last night? An equally unanswerable question is: why would Kevin and Flora pretend to be married if they aren’t?

“If there’s ever a mix-up or misunderstanding in communications, Mr. Cater’s ready to pounce,” says Lou. “Instead of drawing attention to it nicely, he’ll write in indignantly, cc-ing everyone from the head teacher to the chair of the board of governors. It’s like he’s just waiting to dump his disapproval all over us, you know?”

“I didn’t warm to him either,” I tell her. “Before he lied to me, even. His manner was off-putting and unpleasant.”

“Yes, it is, generally.”

“What about Yanina?”

“Hard to know what kind of person she is. Superficial, would be my guess. She’s friendly and smiley on the surface, but you can sort of tell it doesn’t go very deep. It’s more like she uses friendliness and charm as currency, to reach whatever her goal is at any given time. You know, the weirdest thing of all . . .” Lou breaks off with a shake of her head.

“What?”

“Everything you’ve told me: Mrs. Cater being the same person as your friend Flora, Yanina pretending to be Jeanette, the Toby and Emma lie, the older Thomas and Emily who live in Florida with their dad . . . it’s all so utterly creepy and beyond the bounds of normal behavior, but . . . no part of it shocks me. I don’t disbelieve any of it. It was sort of a relief when you told me all those things.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to work it out.”