Grace smiled back at him bleakly through blurred eyes.

74

Friday 6 September

As soon as Glenn Branson had left his office, closing the door behind him, Roy Grace began to cry. He had been managing to hold it together in front of his team, but moments like this, on his own, were when his sadness returned. Should he even be here? He called Cleo.

She sounded strained as she answered.

‘OK, darling?’ he asked, putting on a brave front.

There was a short pause. ‘Not really, no. I can’t stop thinking about him.’

‘I can’t, either.’

‘I see all these dead bodies all day long at work. Old, middle-aged, young – and kids. But I don’t know them, I don’t know their families, their stories. All I know is these are people who woke up one morning – mostly, other than those who died in their sleep – with their day ahead of them. Then something happened. They said goodbye to their loved ones, went out and they never came back home. They fell off a ladder. Got crushed to death on their bike by a cement lorry. Were texting as they drove and went head-on into another car. Got into a fight outside a pub or a bar and hit their head on a kerb. Or had a stroke, a heart attack, whatever. Regardless of the plans they’d made for that evening, the following day, the weekend, whatever. Fate got to them first. And now it’s got Bruno.’

‘I know,’ was all Grace could think of to say at this moment.

‘It’s not fair, Roy, is it? Bruno was just getting through all the shit from his crazy mother.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘Darling, I’m sorry – I don’t mean to be insensitive.’

‘No, it’s fine, she was nuts – or became nuts. I don’t know what demons were inside her, but yes, you’re right, it’s not fair.’

‘I’ve been thinking about what the funeral director said – that all Bruno’s friends at school would want to attend.’

‘I’ve been thinking the same,’ he replied. ‘Maybe, with a normal kid of his age, that would be true. But from what we know of how few friends he had – and how many of his fellow pupils he’d upset – we could be setting ourselves up for a fall.’

‘I have a suggestion.’

‘Go on?’

‘Why don’t we announce it’s going to be a private funeral – family members only. If it then turns out that loads of his fellow pupils did want to attend, then we could have some kind of a memorial service later?’

‘I like that,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about it when I get home. I’ve got a 5.30 p.m. briefing and I’ll head home straight after that – should be back by 7 p.m. latest.’

‘Any thoughts on what you’d like for supper?’

‘I don’t know, I’m just not hungry – not right now, anyway. Want me to pick up something on the way home? From that Indian place in Henfield, perhaps?’