‘I miss her, Ste,’ Dean said, cuffing his already bloodshot eyes.

‘Finish your brew.’ Stephen shifted in his chair. ‘I’ll take you to the caff for a fry up. My treat.’

As though the thought of food was too much to bear, Dean collapsed on to the table and buried his face in his arms. He began to sob. Stephen reached out but pulled his hand away. He stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. Again, he reached out. His hand hovered above his brother until he gave in and patted Dean’s shoulder. ‘She wouldn’t want to see you like this, mate.’

‘I kept going on and on about stupid chips,’ Dean sobbed. ‘I should have gone … I could have run out of the way of that car … I could …’ His words disappeared in a cry that made his shoulders shake.

Guilt churned in Lou’s empty stomach. This pain, this grief, it was all her doing. She couldn’t just watch Dean tear himself to shreds. Abandoning the safety of the staircase, she burst into the kitchen. ‘Dean, it wasn’t you, it was me. It was my fault, I –’

Stephen leapt from his chair. ‘Drink your tea!’ he barked at Dean. He grabbed Lou’s arm and manhandled her out into the hall. Slamming the door behind them, he dragged her into the living room.

‘What the hell are you doing,’ Lou said, pulling her arm free. ‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Breathe another word to Dean, and I’ll do a lot worse.’

‘We’re not kids anymore. You can’t bully me and push me around.’

Stephen tried to push past Lou, but she stepped into his path. There was something unusual about Stephen’s behaviour. He wasn’t shouting and yelling. He could hardly bring himself to look at her. His lips were tight in barely contained anger. No, it was more than anger. It was fury.

A ball of nervous energy and adrenaline rushed through Lou’s chest. ‘You know, don’t you?’ The words burst out with the relief of steam escaping from a sudden crack in a blocked pipe. ‘You know it’s all my fault.’

Stephen began to pace up and down the length of the living room.

‘You know it should have been me that night, not Mum,’ Lou said. ‘If you know the truth, we have to talk about it. How can we get through this mess if we don’t talk about it?’

Stephen stopped pacing and faced the wall, leaving Lou to stare at the back of his creased dressing gown.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘say something.’

Stephen’s response was swift and definite. He slammed the heel of his hand into the chimneybreast. ‘You couldn’t leave it, could you? You had to interfere, like you always do. Shit.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Lou said, pouncing on his reaction. ‘Let me help pay for the funeral. It’s the least –’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Stephen braced himself against the chimney. ‘I bet you hardly scrape minimum wage at that poxy supermarket.’