Flash. The massive fight they’d had in a B&B before some wedding. No idea what it was about, just Clio’s face screaming up at him, her fingernails near his eyes. They’d needed half the coke they’d brought with them to get through that one; he remembers twitching in his seat, the only non-white face in the whole congregation with all these rich old fuckers edging away from him, not knowing anyone, her stood up at the altar or whatever it was called and her voice ringing out, her trying to meet his eyes, singing the words just for him. Some Joni Mitchell thing he’d never heard before she started practising it. By unspoken mutual agreement, they’d kept themselves drunk and high all day, even dancing and snogging, not talking about it. Their first real break-up had happened the week after and that song had followed him about for two months, on the radio, on telly, people singing it in the fucking street until he’d found himself shitfaced and ringing her doorbell well after midnight.

Two days after Clio died, Gemma came back from work early and sat him down on the sofa, held both his hands.

‘I think you’re struggling with this more than you’re letting on, aren’t you?’

‘With what?’

‘You know what I’m talking about. I think you need time and space to grieve, and I’m sorry if I haven’t really acknowledged that.’

She was doing that thing again where she talked like a self-help book, and he knew she’d been workshopping these lines with her mates on group chat.

‘It’s hard for me, because of my role in it all, to be objective. But here’s someone who was hugely important to you, and you’re dealing with the knowledge that she wasn’t at peace when she died. That’s huge. I’m sorry if I’ve been, like, flippant about it or whatever.’

‘Na, na. Gem, come here. You’re solid. Don’t worry. You’ve been fine.’

‘But, we should talk about it. We should talk about Clio and what she meant to you. I mean, otherwise you’re just bottling all that up – it’s not like you can tell anyone else, is it?’

‘I’m good, babe. I’m dealing with it in my own way. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not really remembering much. You know? Like those years happened to someone else, or it was a dream I had a while ago. It’s not – this is my life, now. This house and you and the dog. All right?’