I try a mouthful of porridge. It’s blisteringly hot, and I wince as it scalds the roof of my mouth. But, weirdly, the pain feels good – sharp and alive – in stark contrast to the numbness in my chest.

I swallow another spoonful. My watch is still stuck at one minute to midnight, but the clock on the wall says 10.35 a.m. I woke up much earlier on this day first time around. I’d thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I had, somehow. I remember having a dream in which Mum was still alive. I had those dreams a lot in the months after she died.

She was always still alive, too, in those first few hazy seconds after I woke up, blinking and yawning and becoming increasingly aware that something big and awful had happened but not quite able to put my finger on it yet. And then I had to remember all over again, and sometimes the pain of remembering was so intense it was actually physical, bending my body at odd angles, or curling my hands into claws as I lay there crying silently into the mattress, trying not to wake Daphne.

She comes back in and stands in the doorway, looking at me. The shadows under her eyes are now hidden under a layer of foundation, but she doesn’t look any less miserable. ‘Simon will be here soon,’ she says quietly. ‘You should go and get changed.’

I stare down into the porridge. ‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ I hear myself say.

‘Oh, Ben …’ She sighs and runs a hand across her forehead. ‘I’m not sure I can either. But we have to.’

‘No, I just …’ I don’t know what to say. How can I explain it to her? How can I tell her that I just physically can’t go through this again? This day nearly broke me the first time. It will break me this time. I know it will. So why do I have to relive it? What the fuck is the point?

I suddenly want to see the watch-seller again. I want to demand an explanation for why this is happening, for what I could have done to deserve this.

I look down to see tears dropping steadily into my porridge bowl.

Daff rushes across to me and wraps me in her arms. ‘Ben, we can do this. We can get through this day together, I promise you we can.’

The tears are starting to roll down her cheeks too now, spoiling her fresh make-up. I didn’t even try to get through this day with her, originally. I barely took any notice of her grief because I was so caught up in my own. I just shut her out completely and retreated inwards; I didn’t even realise I was doing it.