That Sunday morning, the day after they’d found Kevin’s body, I breakfasted like a champion on scrambled eggs, which would soon be followed by olanzapine and some tasty sodium valproate. While Eileen and one of her less than chatty assistants cleared the dirty cups and plates away, I sat in the dining room with Ilias (bacon sandwich and risperidone), Lauren (sausage, egg, beans, lorazepam and clozapine), Shaun (toast and sertraline) and Donna (Greek yoghurt brought in by a visitor – unopened – and lamotrigine).

‘That was gorgeous.’ Lauren dropped a meaty hand on to Eileen’s arm as she passed. ‘Best ever.’

Eileen smiled and said, ‘Glad to hear it.’

Lauren took this as a cue and began to sing a song in praise of her breakfast, but it was mercifully short and then she just sat looking grumpy, because she hadn’t been able to come up with anything that rhymed with sausage.

‘Where’s Kevin?’ Ilias asked.

Everyone stared at him.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Ilias said.

Donna pushed her uneaten yoghurt away. ‘It feels weird, doesn’t it?’

‘Takes a while to sink in,’ I said.

‘I still think he killed himself.’ Donna was stretching in her chair, getting ready for a few hours’ walking. ‘It’s so sad.’

‘You’re wrong,’ I said.

‘You don’t know any better than the rest of us,’ Lauren said.

‘Oh, I think I do. I’ve already talked to one of the detectives.’

‘Bollocks,’ Lauren said.

Shaun had begun to cry. He put his hands over his face.

‘It’s OK to be upset,’ I said. ‘You need to get it out.’

Lauren grinned. ‘He’s always getting it out. Under the table, usually. Or was that Kevin?’

I shook my head and nodded towards Shaun. ‘Seriously? You reckon it’s all right to make stupid jokes like that when his friend’s been murdered?’

‘Who’s been murdered?’ Ilias said.

‘You’re full of shit,’ Lauren said. ‘Piss off.’

When Shaun stopped sobbing and took his hands away, he left one finger pressed to his chin. He leaned towards me, wide-eyed.

‘Am I going to die? Am I going to die? Am I going to die . . . ?’

I assured him that he was going to be fine and he nodded, grateful. He plastered on a smile and I watched him get up and walk slowly towards the door where Malaika was standing ready to wrap an arm around his shoulder.

‘Come on, darling,’ she said.

People were getting up from the other tables, lurking. We watched Graham dabbing gently at the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin before standing up and heading out, ready to take his place at the meds hatch. The Thing walked across and stood by our table for a minute or so swishing his kilt around.

Did I mention that Tony wears a kilt?