He nodded and opened the door, directing me through.

‘Patricia, Mrs O’Loughlin’s here,’ he called.

I was surprised and a little reassured to hear his voice had broken.

A short woman, with cropped dark hair and a friendly face, walked out of the kitchen and reached her hand out to welcome me. Her handshake was firm and I wondered whether or not she could feel my own hand trembling in hers.

‘Thank you for coming, Mrs O’Loughlin. I’m sure it’ll be a real help to the Taylors to hear from you.’

‘Please, Constable,’ I said, ‘call me Elizabeth.’

She nodded with a small smile. ‘I will do, and you must just call me Patricia. I’m here as support for the family at this very difficult time. We like to keep things informal. It helps everyone.’

I nodded and followed as she led me through to the small kitchen where three adults, two women and a man were sitting around the table drinking tea. I guessed they were all around the same age as poor Clare had been. Were they siblings, or cousins?

They looked at me and to Patricia as I stood awkwardly, waiting for an introduction.

‘Ronan,’ she said, ‘this is Elizabeth O’Loughlin, the lady who was with Clare yesterday morning when she passed.’

The man in front me, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, got to his feet and crossed the room. He stretched his arms wide and pulled me into a hug. I could feel him shaking, heard him say ‘Thank you’ over and over. I felt like a fraud. Sure, what was there to thank me for? I’d done nothing. I hadn’t saved her. Maybe if he knew I was a nurse who didn’t save her his welcome wouldn’t be so warm.

‘Ronan’s Clare’s older brother,’ I heard Patricia say, just as I heard the two women who’d been sitting with him excuse themselves.

‘We’ll give you some space,’ one of them said.

I wanted some space just then. Needed some air. I felt guilt and sorrow wrap around me just as Ronan’s arms did.

‘Maybe you’d like a seat, Elizabeth,’ I heard Patricia say and Ronan pulled away from me.

Patricia just looked at me sympathetically. She’d known I was feeling overwhelmed, or she was familiar enough with horrible events like these to assume that I would be.

‘Thank you,’ I said, sitting down on one of the pine kitchen chairs.

‘Tea or coffee?’ Patricia asked.

‘Tea, please,’ I said as Ronan tried to compose himself, wiping his eyes with a tissue.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to thank you enough.’

‘I didn’t do anything, really,’ I said, feeling my face blaze. I didn’t like being thanked for my woeful inadequacy.