I had no idea what had happened to him, I couldn’t imagine how far he had come, how far I had still to go. I ran through every possibility, I thought about it for days – girl trouble, money trouble, trouble with the cops, an incurable disease, every shitty thing that can go wrong in life – but I never thought of this. Dear God almighty, not this. I don’t think anyone in the world has been through what we’ve been through.

After the funeral, Ophélie took off for Canada, to her cousin Cathy who got married over there to some fur trader who’s rolling in it. She gave me the keys to their house, asked me to look after it. She said, ‘We’ll just see how things go.’ When I asked her why Rachel killed himself, she said, ‘I don’t know, he never told me anything.’ I believed her. I knew just from looking at her standing there shaking that she didn’t know anything, Rachel never told anybody anything.

So there I was all alone in Rachel’s big house, feeling pathetic. I was beating myself up about the fact I hadn’t been around when Rachel lost it. A whole month I spent going round in circles. I felt like shit and I couldn’t even cry. Raymond, Momo and a couple of other mates came round and hung out with me. They’d swing by in the afternoon, we’d talk about nothing much, knock back a couple of beers. That’s when I got the job with Raymond’s dad, Monsieur Vincent, working in this garage he’s got called Rustbuckets’ Delight, making minimum wage plus tips. I could deal with being on my own. The best thing about work is you forget everything else.

A month later Com’Dad phoned me at the garage and said, ‘I need you to come down the station, I’ve got something for you.’ I went down after work. He sat there staring at me for a bit, clicking his tongue, then he opens this drawer, takes out a plastic bag and shoves it across the desk. I pick it up. Inside, there are four battered notebooks. Com’Dad says to me, ‘It’s your brother’s diary. We don’t need it any more.’ Then he pokes his fat finger right in my face and says, ‘You should read it. Might knock some sense into you. Your brother was a good guy.’ Then he starts talking about this and that, the same stuff he’s always banging on about, the estate, the future, France, the straight and narrow. I listened to him, shifting from one foot to the other. Then he looks up at me and says, ‘Go on, get out of here!’