Hugo Fletcher stared out his kitchen window, looking down upon the London street lights. His feet were cold against the ceramic tiles, and his leg hairs bristled against the chill from the inoperative radiator. He wished he’d put on his dressing gown.

Usually, through the walls of his flat he could hear the neighbours to the right yelling about something or other, and the neighbour to the left practising violin. On occasion, he could even hear the neighbour to the left of the violin player yelling at the violin player to shut the f—k up. But in the starkness of the night, there were no neighbours, no violins, no cursing, and as far as Hugo Fletcher himself was involved, no sleeping.

“Babe?”

“Audrey, I thought you were asleep. Did I disturb you?”

“No, I just woke up and panicked when you weren’t there.”

“Sorry,” he sighed and took a seat on one of the kitchen island bar stools.

“What’s going on?” she ran a compassionate hand through his hair.

“Can’t sleep.”

“You really should go to the doctor. Maybe they can give you something for it.”

“I know it’s just stress.”

“But if you don’t sort out the insomnia, you won’t be able to handle the stress.”

He reached his hands away from him and rested his forehead on the island.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” he said.

“About what? This Agency thing?”

“Lynch, the Agency, all of it. I’m so anxious all the time.”

“Really? You’ve never said that before.”

“I know. I wanted to keep it to myself.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. You know I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

“Can you tell me what’s on your mind?”

He placed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.

“Ugh,” he grunted.

She waited.

“I keep reliving some memories. Things that haven’t come up in a while. I thought I’d processed them and moved on. But now, it’s all coming back.”

“Like what?”

“My sister.”

“What?”

“I had a sister. Imogen. She died.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I know, I don’t talk about her. I find it too difficult to even think about her most of the time.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

He leaned on his elbows. His fingers palpated his forehead. His eyes glazed in reflection.

“We were on holiday in Ireland. It was our first family holiday since we were kids, because Immy had finished her P-Levels and we were celebrating that she accepted a place at St Andrew’s. She was so excited; you wouldn’t believe it. She’d always wanted to go to Ireland, so my parents thought it would be a good idea for all of us to go together, as I was home from uni for the summer, too.

We rented this little fishing boat, the two of us, and went out on the water. We were both experienced with boats, because my dad used to have one when we lived in Sussex. So we went out, and it was this perfect August afternoon. The sea was perfect. The temperature was perfect. And then she got all weird and said she had a bad feeling. Like a deja vu, she said. She had this feeling there was a storm coming.

And I told her I’d checked the weather, and it was forecast to be sunny all day. And again, she told me she had a really strong feeling that we should go back to shore. And I made fun of her for thinking she could predict something like that.”

Hugo’s face ached with the memory. His lips drew tightly together; his nostrils flared with every exaggerated breath. He swallowed hard.

“She was right. Of course.”

“Sweetheart…” Audrey rubbed loose circles on his back.

“She was such a funny kid. She’d always be putting on these ridiculous shows for us, where she would play all these different characters. There’d be songs and dances. She was quite the musician. She barely needed piano lessons, she was so naturally good at it. She wanted to study music and art history.”

“She sounds like a lovely sister.”

“She was,” he nodded vacantly. “She was perfect. And I couldn’t save her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was. I convinced her that her intuition was wrong. And I lay there with her as the black clouds came in. And still, I kept saying ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine’ instead of heading back to shore immediately. And then once the rain started, we had no chance. We were trapped out there on a psychotic sea. The waves were knocking the boat in every direction. And she just held on to me so tight, and she was crying and begging me to tell her everything would be all right. And I did, I kept telling her that same fucking lie. I didn’t know anything. I just kept saying it. Empty words that didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t protect her. The water got so deep into the top of the boat that it capsized and tipped us out. I managed to grab on to part of the boat as it floated, but she got swept further away. I couldn’t reach her.”

His bottom lip shook. His voice began to choke and strain through the desperate tears that he tried to hold back.

“The last thing she said was my name. She just kept screaming my name.”

“Babe, there was nothing you could have done. It was an accident.”

“I had my chance to listen to her. And I didn’t. Because of me, that beautiful girl lost her life. My parents lost their daughter. They can’t ever forgive me.”

“Is that why you don’t see them anymore?”

“My mother told me she never wanted to see me again. She got her wish.”

“People can say horrible things when they’re grieving. I’m sure enough time has passed that she’ll feel differently now.”

“I don’t think so. They moved house last year and never gave me their new address. She hates me.”

“Maybe one day they’ll come around.”

“Maybe,” he sighed. “Do you believe in fate?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think I did either, but I just keep thinking about how similar Jessa is to Immy. And I wonder if maybe I was meant to come here because the universe knew that I would understand when Jessa needed someone to hear her. But still, I didn’t believe her at first, and I just… ugh, I feel so bad about that.”

“But you came round, you’re supporting her now, and that’s the important thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe—definitely. She’s lucky to have you on her side.”

“I really hope so.”