But the next sentence, the one I have memorized word for word, confirms what I’ve always known.

‘… when I looked down there was no question who it was.’

I slam the diary shut and put it down on the bed. If Elspeth is dead then where did the cardigan come from? And how to explain the letter, written in her hand? Did she write it before the accident? Was she play acting? My head begins to throb. None of it makes any kind of sense.

I look down at the diary, remembering what Amanda had said when she gave it to me: some patients find it helps. I take the diary in my hands. No matter how painful, I want to read Sean’s last entry again, try and work out what he was talking about. I flick through the pages impatiently and then something drops out on to the bed: a small square photograph.

I look at it in disbelief. How did that get there?

Taking the photograph in my hands, I look down at my fourteen-year-old self. I’m lying on my back, my arms stretched out behind me. My eyes are glazed and drooping and a chain of pink flowers has been placed precariously on my head. Ben is beside me. His bare arms are wrapped round me, his lips touching my face.

‘No,’ I cry, dropping the photograph on to the bed. ‘God, no.’

We’re in the playhouse. Ben’s unofficial party. I’ve spent most of the evening standing in the corner of the room, watching as Ben’s friends get more and more drunk. Ben, ever the social butterfly, flutters about, topping up people’s glasses and dancing with the girls. By nine o’clock I’ve had enough of being a wallflower and decide to leave, but as I reach the door I feel a hand on my shoulder.

‘Where do you think you’re going, party pooper?’

I turn round and see Ben. His hair is wet with sweat; all that dancing has taken its toll. But his eyes are sparkling. He looks radiant and happy; like the Ben I’d known as a child.

I tell him that my parents will be expecting me to meet them at the gate soon but he takes my hand and puts it against his chest.

‘I’ve been waiting to see you all night,’ he says. ‘You know what parties are like. You have to go round everyone, make sure they’re having fun. It’s such a bore. And you were the only person I wanted to be here.’

‘Really?’ I say. Clichéd as it may sound, this is one of those moments when the room seems to stand still; the kind of moment you want to capture and bottle for ever.

‘Really,’ he replies. ‘Now, come with me. It’s far too noisy out here.’