‘No chance,’ she’d said. It was comforting because nine days ago his job as Casey’s drummer was all he had. Davey had a strong support network in Nashville; it was half the reason he’d fought his family and begged his sister for the chance to raise her twelve-year-old daughter. It wasn’t his plan or intention to put himself forward as guardian, but over the course of the eight long days and nights watching his sister die, and being party to the arguments as to who was fit to care for Juliet – also known to those who loved her most as Bunny – he thought, why not me? His parents Jack and Molly were too old. His sister Grace had four boys already packed into a tiny house. Why not the guy with more money than sense, no wife, no kids and a hole in his life to fill? Anyway the child picked him. They’d always had a special, close relationship, conducted from afar. She knew he had room for her in his home and heart; what she didn’t know was how impulsive, selfish, clueless and messed-up he was. In her final days Rabbit agreed to Davey caring for her daughter. The rest of the family were up in arms but she was steadfast. ‘Just love her, Davey, that’s all anyone really needs.’ Of course the cancer had gone into her brain by then. What was I thinking? What was she thinking? Even with brain cancer our Rabbit was smarter than that. Oh God, they’re all right, I am a gobshite! What have I done?

He walked through the door, unshaven, hungry but too sick and sad to eat. He needed to shower and to change out of clothes that smelled of antiseptic and death. On the way to the bathroom he realised that his GPS seemed a little off when he walked into a wall. Then he was standing fully dressed in front of a thundering shower, the steam rising overhead. He stayed there for a while just staring at the water pounding the tiles and under it for even longer, drowning a little physically and emotionally.

When he emerged, soaked through and more miserable than refreshed, he looked in the mirror. He was wearing his pain, having aged ten years in nine days. Aged forty-four, he was still handsome, like a pampered musician should be, but he was weary now.

He dreaded telling Juliet of her mother’s passing. He didn’t wake her. As long as she slept her mother was still alive.