Niall wanted to spit in her face for such a pile of shite. He carried on doing odd jobs for the family, unable to turn down work, but her braying voice on that day stayed with him.

Seemingly satisfied, the police leave into the night, thanking him for his time. He barely registers their departure. He straightens himself on the chair and, for the first time, he tries Christine’s technique now at the kitchen table, hitting his ribs. He is glad he can’t see himself in the mirror. To his surprise, his face screws up of its own accord.

If you do this long enough, you might find you laugh, yawn or cry …

Something strange is happening. He feels his mouth opening. His expression changes to that of a howling baby, a silent scream. Something starts to open up and things come flooding back. He keeps hitting his sides, relentlessly, the grief coming through his face, until he feels exhausted. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself at the table. The tea is cold now; his face is wet. He remembers the night he saw Christine again.

She was so close by. The softness of the headlights flood back to him and he saw her body emerging from the passing place. He remembers how beautiful she looked, how alive. He remembers what she smelled like when he saw her again, how he thought himself mad. How bruised she was and how cold. The thought of it makes him weep some more. When he gently washed her hair with the shower. Her beautiful hair. The curls of it through his fingers. How he held her and washed her and how he washed away blood and teeth fell out, and he was crying. Her bones as thin as a rabbit’s. Her sad blue eyes looking at him again. He can think this without questioning any of it. The how. Just the anxious joy of being with her again. The way he tried to make her safe again. He never wanted to stop holding her. This shivering woman was different from the one who had grown in his memory.

In her dream that night, Lauren makes her way downstairs again in blinding sunlight. It shines through her hair and she wonders if she is in heaven. She notices a strange smell coming from the utility room and opens the chest freezer, leaking mist. Inside are frosted flowers, tulips, roses and marigolds growing out of glittering crushed ice. She pushes back their icy stems and sees Ann-Marie, curled in a ball underneath, her head tilted up, her skin faintly blue like a Smurf. She is wearing the crown of the High Priestess as she sleeps.

Niall lies awake, the edges of his eyes raw, his heart beating like a trapped bat.