‘Callie never regained consciousness you know,’ Tom says.

The sentence sits between us. It could so easily have been my dad reciting those words about me. I look Tom straight in the eyes. ‘What you did. Signing the donor consent form…’

‘It’s what she would have wanted. Honestly, Jenna.’ He touches my arm and squeezes and a feeling of warmth spreads through me. ‘It’s a comfort knowing Callie saved your life. Really. And I think you being here will do Amanda good. Might shake her out of her blackness a little. More than those blasted pills the doctor gives her anyway. They seem to make her constantly exhausted, but don’t seem to lift her mood at all. She never talks to anyone, and she never goes out. Meeting you though and knowing that a part of Callie lives on…’ He pats my hand. ‘I’m glad you came.’

‘Me too,’ I say, and I am.

‘I’d best check on Amanda.’ He crosses the lounge, no longer with the purposeful strides he had earlier but with small, slow steps, dragging his heels as though there’s something else he wants to say, and as he reaches the door he turns, leaning back against the frame. ‘It’s the not knowing,’ he says quietly. ‘All the questions. At night, Amanda’s knocked out by her medication, but I lie there and I wonder why. Why did they leave the reception? Why was Callie in Woodhaven? Why wasn’t Nathan with her? We talked about it once afterwards, Nathan and me, as we were arranging her funeral. He cried and said I had to let it go or it would drive me crazy but I couldn’t cry. I was so bloody angry. I know he’s right. Knowing won’t bring her back, but if we had the answers.’ He raises his palms to the ceiling as if the answers might drop into them. ‘If we understood why she died.’ He shakes his head. ‘I never knew what the blasted Americans were on about when they talked about closure but— Sorry.’ He toes the carpet.

‘No need to apologise.’

‘It’s just that Amanda won’t talk about it. Can’t talk about it. She says knowing won’t bring any peace. Nothing will except Callie coming back and that can’t happen. Maybe she’s right. I don’t know. It’s just so bloody agonising. The not knowing. I even went through her iPhone when Nathan brought her things around looking for… I don’t know what I was looking for. Maybe she’d just fancied a drive. I’ll never bloody know, will I?’ The corners of his mouth downturn and for a horrible minute I think he’s going to cry but instead he bends and picks up an invisible piece of thread from the floor. I watch his defeated shoulders slink into the hallway, and I wish more than anything I could help but I’m at a loss to know what to do. What to say.

* * *

‘You never think you’ll have to do it. Bury your own child.’ The statement tumbles from Tom’s mouth as he comes back into the room, as though he can’t contain the words any more.

‘It’s not right, is it?’ I begin to answer but he starts to talk again as he sits.

‘The church was packed. Funerals for the young always are, I suppose. Amanda wanted it to be family only. Intimate. Neither of us wanted to make small talk afterwards but word gets around, doesn’t it? In the end, I’m glad so many came to pay their respects. Her colleagues. Even some of her old school friends had heard. I thought she’d lost touch with most of them after she got serious with Nathan but there were so many people. We didn’t recognise all of them, not that I could tell you who was there now, it all passed in a bit of a blur really. We played “I Have a Dream,” by Abba. It was Callie’s favourite song. Not many came back to the wake at the pub and those that did only stopped for one drink. It was a relief when the last person left.’

‘I can’t imagine how you felt.’ I have only been to one funeral, my nana’s, and that was when I was small. I have never forgotten the chill of the church. The smell of beeswax.

‘It was such a godawful day. When we got home, someone had broken into the house. Completely ransacked it.’ The muscles in his cheek tic. ‘The police said it’s common. Can you believe it? There are people who make a career of targeting properties when they know the occupants are at funerals. There are some sick bastards in the world. Amanda was distraught. We were moving anyway and we decided it was the right time to pack up and leave the city. A fresh start. But memories? Well, they follow you wherever you go, don’t they?’

‘I’m so sorry. Did they take much?’

‘The cash we kept in the safe. Jewellery. Amanda had some lovely pieces. There was a star we commissioned made of rubies and diamonds that was worth a bomb, but it didn’t seem important at the time. Possessions you can replace. People…’

We fall into silence. In the distance a dog barks. Tom stifles a yawn. The sun has shifted around the back of the house, and a warm golden glow breaks through the grime-coated patio doors, pooling over the sofa where he sits, silent now. In the sunlight, his scalp is visible through his thinning hair. His skin appears looser. Paler. He looks older than when I’d arrived, somehow, and my heart goes out to him. Losing two daughters. I can’t imagine, and although I want to ask what happened to Sophie, he has clearly been through enough for one day. I stand.

‘I must make a move. Can I use your bathroom or will it wake Amanda?’

Tom straightens his spine and stretches his neck. ‘She’s had a pill. It would take an earthquake to wake her. It’s the door opposite the top of the stairs.’

* * *

Upstairs, I creep past what must be Tom and Amanda’s bedroom. It’s cloaked in darkness and a sour smell exudes from the open door.

‘No. No. No,’ Amanda murmurs, and I instinctively go to her.

In the shadows, I see her collarbones jutting out under her nightie, and she looks even thinner than she did downstairs, swamped in her cardigan. It seems she’s only woven together by threads of grief, and as she thrashes her head from side to side I worry she’ll soon unravel. Soothing her with words she cannot hear I brush away the damp hair that sticks to her hollowed cheeks.

It’s hard to tear myself away from Amanda but eventually I tiptoe back out onto the landing. As I glance in the next room I notice it is full of boxes. The walls are pale pink and a bunny rabbit border is peeling off in several places. Lilac curtains that don’t quite meet in the middle hang at the windows, but they’re so thin they don’t block out the light. The last occupants must have had a baby girl, and I can’t imagine how Amanda and Tom can bear to come in here. It must bring back so many memories. On top of one of the boxes is a doll and I wonder if it was Callie’s or Sophie’s, and although I know I should carry on to the bathroom, I’m drawn towards it. I touch its wiry hair, rough beneath my fingers.

My hand hovers over the cardboard box. I really shouldn’t snoop but I can’t help opening the flaps.

‘Are you OK up there?’ Tom stage whispers. The stairs creak with his steady footfall.

I dart into the bathroom and stand with my back against the door, breathing hard. I can’t believe I’ve almost been caught poking around in Callie’s things.

The doorbell rings, and Tom’s footsteps grow fainter, and I flush the chain and run the taps. I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear angry whispers coming from the lounge.

‘She can’t find out,’ Tom almost hisses, and I freeze, hovering mid-step.

‘You know how I feel about it,’ a man replies, his words are coated with resentment.

‘What’s done is done. It’s too late for regrets.’ Tom’s voice is firm.

My bag is in the lounge, I can’t exactly slip away and so I exaggerate my steps as I descend, warning them of my impending arrival.

The room falls silent as I push open the door and Tom steps away from the man he’s squared up to.

‘Jenna,’ he says evenly. ‘This is my brother, Joe.’

The man swings around and as he glares at me I feel my skin crawl with a million invisible ants.