Tom opened and closed his mouth, not sure what to say next. It was just like Louise had said. One moment she was June, as he had always known her. The next, it was like the last forty years of her life had never happened.

‘Where’s my cushion?’ June sought around her for the familiar object, eventually retrieving it from the pile in the corner where Mary had placed it. She tutted.

‘Don’t have children, Tom. That Mary one, she’s always fussing around me. Telling me what I can and can’t eat. Saying I need fresh air. I don’t know who she thinks she is. I’m the mother. And why isn’t she in school? That’s what I want to know.’

June stopped fiddling with the stitching. She looked so desolate. Tom put his hand on her elbow. She snatched it away, but dropped her guard when she saw the hurt look in his eyes.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, Tom. I’ve so much on my mind at the moment. And I’ve such a terrible headache.’

The inspector felt a lump in his throat. He was going through a torrent of emotions, the overriding one being guilt. June was his old friend and her husband and family had to cope with this every day. The living death they called it, when the person you loved was still there but no longer themselves. And Tom was glad – yes, he was glad – that he would be out of this uncomfortable situation in a few minutes and not have to deal with the pain of it.

He hadn’t realised he could be so selfish.

‘Is there anything I can get you?’ he asked her. ‘Would you like a glass of water? It might be the heat giving you the headache.’ Tom spoke to her like everything was absolutely normal, in the fond, familiar voice he always used with June.

‘No,’ she replied, looking down. ‘It’s not the heat. It’s my head. It feels like it’s exploding inside. Maybe it’s better this way. The other way would have been so drawn out.’

‘What?’

June leaned across and grabbed his arm; her fingers gripped so tight it was painful. He tried not to react. Instead, he placed his hand over hers.

She stared at him, her gaze intense.

‘Promise me, Tom. Promise me you’ll look after him. He’s going to struggle when I’m gone. Everybody thinks he’s this big lump of a man, all brains and brawn and no heart. But he’s a big softie, my Sean. I mind him, not the other way round. This will break him, watching me go through this.’

Tom swallowed.

‘Of course I will, June. But you’re not going anywhere for a long time.’ He smiled reassuringly. She studied his face, then, after a long pause, smiled back.

‘Of course,’ she replied.

The door opened and Sean appeared.