The man standing in the kitchen doorway was tall, silver-haired, and the last person I’d expected to see.Apparently, Desmond had the same thought.He was on his feet in an instant. ‘Uncle Aaron. What are you doing here?’Aaron Lockwood looked at him, then at me, then back at Desmond. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’‘I asked first.’‘Desmond –’‘Gran,’ I said.Everyone looked at me.I was looking at Gran Alison, who was standing very still by the fireplace with her hands clasped in front of her, wearing the expression I knew meant she had something difficult to say and had decided the time for saying it had arrived.‘What’s going on?’ I asked.Gran said, ‘This is why I asked your mum to call you down here. We need to talk.’ She looked at Aaron Lockwood. ‘All of us.’We sat. Dad on the sofa beside Mum, whose hands he was holding in both of his. Desmond in the armchair he’d been in before, his elbows on his knees now, watching his uncle like a police officer watching a suspect.Aaron L
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