Should we leave? mouthed Bridget, to which Priya mouthed back, Yes, obviously, while I was busy mouthing, It’s fine.

“I meant to text on the way,” Oliver was saying as he came closer, “but I-I suppose I forgot. I’ve been rather busy lately.” There was still something off in his voice. But of course there was. Like he’d said, he’d been busy lately, and my actual dad actually died was one hell of an excuse for being a bit awkward for a couple of weeks.

The sitting room door opened, and the three of us did our best to give Oliver the impression we hadn’t been having an intense conversation about what was wrong with him for the last several hours.

“Hi,” waved Bridge and Priya, more or less in unison.

Oliver blinked. He looked exhausted. Properly used-up, nothing-left exhausted. “Hello. Lovely to see you. Why are you armed?”

Priya made an apologetic gesture with the carving knife. “Thought you were burglars.”

“I suppose”—Oliver ran a hand distractedly through his hair—“this is the wrong time to talk about lethal force in defence of property.”

She shrugged. “Up to you. I was sort of thinking you’d want Bridge and me to leave.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” he said at once. I might have been projecting, but I thought exposure to his parents—well, parent now—always set him about three steps backwards on the can’t-say-no scale.

“That’s code for ‘please leave,’ isn’t it?” observed Priya, passing me the carving knife.

“Not at all,” Oliver lied.

“Well, I’m getting tired anyway,” declared Bridge slightly too loudly to sound even remotely sincere. “So I should be going home. Good night, Luc.” She hugged me, just about managing to let me put the knife down first. “Good night, Oliver.” She hugged him, rather tighter and longer. “I was so sorry to hear about your father.”

He hugged her back in a way I was trying not to read as dead inside. “Thank you, Bridget.”

“If you need anything”—she gazed up at him earnestly—“or if Luc needs anything or you want to talk or not talk…”

“Thank you, Bridget,” he said again.

“You have to reach out to people,” she went on. “You can’t lock everything up inside forever, or you’ll end up like Luc.”

I’d been in the process of returning the knife to the kitchen, but now I swung back. “Oi. I’m doing great these days and it only took me, like, five years.”

“I’m not talking to you, Luc. I’m talking to Oliver.” Bridge gave him one last squeeze. “We’re here for you.”

Priya swung her kit bag over her shoulder. “She’s here for you. I don’t know you that well so I think it would be weird.”

“I appreciate it,” said Oliver, still incapacitated with politeness.