•I’d never jeopardise S or O!

•They bring me joy, Chris. Simple innocent joy.

Dizziness, prickles, a rush starting at my feet, working its way up towards my … I’d fucking kill him, I’d –

‘I’m feeling weird about this, brother.’

‘Me too.’ I couldn’t look up, was unable. I was –

My heart, Josh rummaging … A few pages later:

Perth –

•Worked at State Library Victoria in the Brand & Audience Development team (lame!).

•Involved in poly relationship …

•Husband got jealous, I had to leave Melbourne.

‘This is gross,’ Josh said, throwing a bunch of silk ties to the floor.

I nodded, didn’t look up. Tucked into the next page, in the seam … ‘Oh.’ ‘What is it?’

My wedding photo with Sarah, the black and white from our kitchen.

‘Oh,’ Josh said, holding it. ‘That’s …’

I looked at him, back at the photo. My … I couldn’t breathe … I took the picture, laid it on the bedframe. We were so young, Sarah and me, my fucking heart.

‘We can stop,’ Josh said. ‘I’d be keen for –’

‘Yeah, just hang on.’

In the notebook, the words Malignant hyperthermia, underlined. MDMA. Dosage? Selective Serotonin Uptake Inhibitors? On the next page: Living together/NEW HOUSE!! C goes downhill mentally, physically, the works … Blank page, blank page, blank page … The phrase It’s not my handwriting, Chris, it’s yours. The same sentence on the next page, the Rs like mine, the As, all the letters, the way they joined together, cut through each other, the resemblance was strong.

Then … missing pages … perforations around the thin cotton binding.

I stood, throat tightening, blood thundering. I should tell Josh, but could he handle it? Could I? Could I tell Biddy? Yes. Could I tell Sarah? Yes. Would I tell them? Fuck.

I rummaged in the bowels of the second box with Josh, could tell him later. More dirty clothes. Books. Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide by Kay Redfield Jamison – three months overdue from the Brunswick Library. Under that, the books Josh and Mel had given him, their spines unbent; The Essential Rumi, a bookmark in the … no, not a bookmark – a boarding pass to Bali the day I’d woken him to tell him he was late for prison.

‘Fuck that guy,’ I said, holding it up.

‘Yeah, fuck him, brother.’

I found another boarding card, folded, near the back of the book: his return to Melbourne on the morning of his supposed release. I held it up, Josh tutted.

On the page with the boarding pass, a stanza underlined:

You must wait until you and I

are living together

in the conversation we’ll have

then … be patient … then

I …

Josh lifted a hessian bag from the bottom of the box, with … nothing … with – hang on.