When I knocked on Holly’s door, she yelled, “Go away!” Holly’s bedroom is the only place in that house where you can still see that I exist: in among the pink and frillies are stuffed toys I bought her, bad cartoons I drew for her, funny postcards I sent her for no special occasion. She was facedown on the bed, with a pillow pulled over her head.

I said, “Hi, baby.”

A furious wriggle, and she pulled the pillow tighter over her ears, but that was it. I said, “I owe you an apology.”

After a moment, a muffled voice said, “Three apologies.”

“How’s that?”

“You brought me back to Mum, and you said you’d pick me up later but you didn’t, and you said you’d come get me yesterday but you didn’t.”

Straight for the jugular. “You’re right, of course,” I said. “And if you come out here to me, I’ll apologize three times to your face. But I’m not saying sorry to a pillow.”

I could feel her deciding whether to keep punishing me, but Holly isn’t a sulker; five minutes is about her max. “I owe you an explanation, too,” I added, just for good measure.

Curiosity did it; after a second the pillow slid back a few inches and a suspicious little face poked out. I said, “I apologize. I apologize double. And I apologize triple, from the heart, with a cherry on top.”

Holly sighed and sat up, pushing bits of hair off her face. She still wasn’t looking at me. “What happened?”

“You remember I told you your auntie Jackie had a problem?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone died, baby. Someone we used to know, a long time ago.”

“Who?”

“A girl called Rosie.”

“Why did she die?”

“We don’t know. She died way back before you were born, but we just found out about it Friday night. Everyone was pretty upset. Do you see why I needed to go find Auntie Jackie?”

A small, one-shouldered shrug. “I guess.”

“And does that mean we can go have a nice time with what’s left of the weekend?”

Holly said, “I was going to go over to Sarah’s house. Instead.”