Daniel looked at the tea and then at the old man before him. Picking up the paper cup, he stared at the hot liquid for a few seconds before he flung the entire contents into Limmington’s face. Limmington put up his hands instinctively, then Daniel was up and fighting. He grabbed hold of Limmington’s jacket, raining punches on the man’s face and head.

It was all over in seconds. The officer in the room raised the alarm and then five men were holding Daniel down, kneeling on him to contain him. His face was pressed against the coldness of the floor. Then, to the absolute amazement of the other men in the room, he began to cry, big bubbles of snot mingling with tears that seemed inexhaustible. His shoulders shuddered violently as he sobbed, mouthing his brother’s name over and over.

The enormity of death hit him with the force of a twenty-pound hammer. His Boysie, his other half, was gone. Gone, never to return. They had been together since birth, had shared, had planned, had dreamed together, with never any real thought for anyone but the other. It was all gone, Boysie was gone. Daniel wished he could have died with him.

Limmington straightened his clothes and knelt on the floor. He pushed back Daniel’s hair from his face and, taking a hankie from his pocket, wiped his face and nose.

‘Come on, son, calm yourself down. We’re very, very sorry.’

PC Dawson looked at Limmington and felt an enormous surge of respect.

‘Don’t bother putting this in any of the statements. He reacted as any of us would have under the same circumstances. I’ll ring for the quack, get him a shot. He ain’t in any condition to be questioned. What we have to say to him will keep.’

With that he stood up and left the room, his jacket still crumpled up and his eye beginning to swell.

Outside Briony and Tommy sat in the waiting room. Briony was cold inside. It was a strange feeling. As if something inside her had died along with Boysie.

Tommy held her gently, his arm around her shoulders protectively, his own face grey and mottled.

All Briony could see in her mind’s eye was two little scraps of humanity lying in the bed with their gentle mother. A mother who would have loved them to distraction, and done a damn’ sight better job of raising them than the woman to whom she had entrusted them.

Briony had identified Boysie’s remains, his wife being, in no condition to do the job herself. She had stood and stared down at the lifeless body of the man who had been a son to her. Who had been cared for and loved, oh yes, loved. She had always done that, even when they were at their worst.