When Claire finally got out of the bath, Suki dried her, wrapped her in a warm bathrobe, then fed her a little soup as tenderly as if she was a baby. Still she felt no better. If she’d had a gun, she would have finished her life right then. Sooner or later, Suki was going to have to leave her, and then Claire thought that maybe she would go up on to the roof and just let herself fly down into the street below, end this anguish. Then she caught herself. If she did that, Suki would be alone. She had a daughter. And she couldn’t bear to cause her pain.

Suki stayed. Days and nights passed, Claire didn’t know how many and she didn’t even care. There Suki was, preparing food which Claire only nibbled at. All she could think about was Josh’s body travelling back home, back to England where his family – where that vicious cow – would be waiting for him.

And what about her?

What did she have left?

Only memories.

She went to the wardrobe where Josh’s things hung. Fingering the jackets, the shirts, she hugged them to her and smelled the faint scent of Josh’s skin still on them. Cried wrenching tears over the loss of him, when their future had held such promise.

‘What should I do with those?’ asked Suki, finding her there in the wardrobe sobbing her heart out. ‘Do you want me to sort that out for you?’

Claire drew back, closed the wardrobe door, shaking her head.

‘No. Not yet,’ she said, and went back to bed.

126

126

Connor was passing through the hall at Shauna’s place when the phone rang. He stopped, picked it up. His eyes fastened on the Christmas tree in the corner – a modest one by Mum’s standards, only twelve feet high and sparkling with gold baubles. It seemed to mock him. All the family Christmases! How could any of them have known that last Christmas was going to be Dad’s final one with them?

‘Hello?’ he said.

‘Could I speak to Mrs Flynn?’ asked a female voice.

‘She isn’t here at the moment.’

In fact Shauna was upstairs, in bed. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and all Shauna seemed to want to do since she’d heard the news about Dad was sleep. Christmas was cancelled. Connor and Aysha had moved back in after they’d got the news although neither really wanted to. Mum was a dictatorial pain in the arse at the best of times, and these were the worst. And soon they’d have Dad’s funeral to face. It was a fucking nightmare.

‘I’m her son. Can I help you?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m sorry. This is a confidential matter, I need to speak directly to Mrs Flynn.’

‘And who are you?’