She shrugs. ‘People always say that, you know. They can imagine what it’s like. Truth is, they can’t. Unless you’ve gone through it, unless you live knowing that your child most likely died in absolute terror and you didn’t keep her safe …’ She pauses for a moment. ‘Well, unless you’ve been through it, there’s no way of imagining just how awful it is. Not accurately, you know. And you wouldn’t want to, either. Nobody should have to have the thoughts we’ve had to live with.’

I feel a blush creep up my neck. She’s right, of course. ‘I can only imagine’ is such a nonsense phrase faced with something like this.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘You’re right, of course.’

Bernie goes quiet, stares off into the middle distance. She worries at the wedding ring on her finger, blinks and looks at me. ‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ she mutters. ‘You didn’t kill her. You were just a wain too, weren’t you? It could’ve just as easily have been you, but Kelly was the unlucky one. That’s one of the hardest things to get our heads around. That it was just bad luck. It could’ve been anyone.’

A chill runs through my bones, again because she’s right. It could’ve been anyone, which means it could’ve been me.

Liam Doherty looks haunted when he arrives back at the house. He’s painfully thin. Old. His hair is grey, his beard unkempt. He stops at the door of the living room, taking off his coat, and looks at me before looking at his wife. She, by now, is clutching a tissue, which is disintegrating with her tears. Her cup of tea is untouched.

‘Liam,’ she says. ‘You’re back. There’s tea in the pot. I took the bag out so it wouldn’t stew.’

He looks at me, then back at Bernie, before he turns to leave without speaking.

‘You will come in and talk to Ingrid here, won’t you? You remember Ingrid? Went to school with Kelly and the boys. She’s going to make sure no one forgets our girl. Especially now,’ Bernie calls and he stops walking.

For a moment he just stands very still.

Then he looks at me, his eyes cold. ‘Yes, I remember her,’ he says, still looking directly at me before turning his head sharply towards his wife. ‘I’m not in the form for talking. I told you I didn’t want us to do this. I don’t think any good can come of it.’

‘But it’s her anniversary coming up,’ Bernie says. ‘It’s time we finally spoke. People should know about her. How amazing she was.’