This is useless, she thinks, frustrated, feeling tears prickle behind her eyes. She knows Liv is watching her, her eyes sympathetic, and allows a few drops to leak out.

‘Hey, hey,’ Liv says softly. She leans forward and takes Amy’s hand. ‘You’ll get through this, you’ll be okay.’

Amy nods, but makes no effort to wipe away the tears. ‘You won’t leave me, will you?’

‘Hey, Amy, I’m your sister. Of course I won’t.’ Liv gets up and fetches the tissue box, placing it in front of her.

‘It’s just, I’m so sorry about what happened between us. So sorry about pushing you away.’

Liv smiles, her expression soft. ‘I’m back now, it’s fine. And I’ll do whatever you need. You know that. Do you need help to arrange the memorial? What can I do?’

Amy pulls a tissue out of the box and dabs at her eyes, suppressing a small smile. Jonathan’s death has its upsides, she thinks. All previous ills forgiven, just like that.

‘No, no, it’s fine, that’s all in hand. But you’ll be there on Thursday? Please.’

‘Of course.’ Liv nods. Then Amy sees her pause. ‘There was one other thing, Ames.’

‘What?’

Her sister thinks for a moment, then goes to her bag and takes out her purse.

‘I couldn’t help but nick his cash, and this was caught up in the back of his wallet.’ She takes out a small piece of paper and smooths it out on the table.

Amy leans forward to look at it.

It’s a newspaper clipping, worn where it’s been folded, edges ripped. It looks old, and well thumbed.

‘Just some ancient investigation,’ Amy comments, seeing the date. ‘Why might he have this?’

Liv taps a long red-painted nail on the image. ‘I was going to bin it, but then I recognised the guy in the photo. I knew him.’

‘Who?’ Amy reads the name below the black and white picture. ‘Trevor Stevens?’

‘Yeah. From AA. Back when I first started going. I heard he’d died. Some accident or something a few years ago.’

‘Yeah. And?’

Liv’s face is grim. She taps again on the photo. ‘Read it.’

Amy stares at her, puzzled, then picks up the clipping, squinting at the old worn text. ‘Says here he died in an accident – driving when pissed. So what?’

‘I remember thinking at the time it didn’t seem right. He wasn’t drinking.’

‘He was an alcoholic, alcoholics drink.’ Amy can’t resist the dig at Olivia, still unconvinced by her sobriety. She’s so not interested in this. And all this talk of alcohol is making her thirsty. She glances at the clock – just past ten, that’ll do – then gets up, takes a glass out of the cabinet and a bottle of gin from the cupboard. ‘You want one?’ she asks, deliberately.

But Liv’s not listening.