So his survival then, he would not undo. But if he could only slip quietly away now, he thought, that would be O.K. Mostly it was a passive wish, a desire to disappear more than anything else, but he had toyed with the idea in the past of taking matters into his own hands. Pills and vodka. Even the brutal immediacy of a train. It made him feel tired. If he could be dead just by wishing it, without effort and without pain, without any action at all on his part, he thought he would choose it.

He could not remember now exactly why Nicky had gone back downstairs that evening. He was almost sure it was because his brother had wanted to watch television, but it bothered Tom that he could not recall this for certain, nor think of what programme he might have been watching. So much was broken and blurred, but what remained clear was that Nicky and his mum were downstairs when it started, and so was Beth because she’d woken up crying some time earlier, and Tommy was alone upstairs in the bedroom he shared with Nicky, reading an illustrated book about the Vikings.

There had been shouting and several shots but he could not say afterwards what order these things happened in, or if they were all taking place at the same time. He could not say either how long he remained frozen, the book still in his hands. Then he was up and running along the landing, and the shouting got louder and he thought he remembered his father yelling, “You did this, you bitch,” (Tommy would later repeat this to the police) and the next moment he was in his parents’ bedroom, though he couldn’t have explained why this was the place he chose. He couldn’t have explained any of his actions after the shots began, could not even have said if he knew at the time what was happening, that downstairs everyone was dying. His body simply took over and there he was in the middle of his parents’ room. He had closed the door behind him and now his eyes were darting around in panic as he looked for a hiding place.