I start babbling about how sorry I am. She closes her eyes and nods. I can tell she’s not taking it in. She’s put up a mental shield and everything I say will roll off it. I shut up. We sit for a while saying nothing, watching the river traffic.

Then she says, ‘Melodie was always too sensitive. Even when she was a child. Save the whales. Save the worms in the garden. When I thinned the lettuce, she would take the little plants I’d removed and replant them in plastic bottles from the recycling. Maybe this shouldn’t come as such a shock, really. I think all artists are vulnerable to mental illness, don’t you?’

Oh, god. What do I say? Do I lie?

‘Ms Tan, I’m not a doctor or anything like that. I only met Melodie a few times. But for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think she was mentally ill. I’m not sure what happened. I know she’d been sleepwalking. I don’t think this was suicide.’

I can’t believe I said that. I’m not supposed to be talking about this. In a minute I’m going to be spilling my guts to this poor woman, and how will that help? I’ll feel better, but what could possibly ease her mind? Pain is bleeding off her and I’m just going to make it worse.

But she doesn’t appear to take in what I’ve said. She carries on.

‘If only we’d known, maybe we could have helped. She worked so hard, you know? She hardly ever came home. We Spacetimed every week to stay in touch, and of course we attended many of her concerts virtually. She seemed . . . strong. I just don’t know what to think. It’s like she had this secret life I didn’t know about. But you have to let your children go. You can’t keep them safe. I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m saying—’

I put my hand on hers, and when I touch her skin I remember how I did the same when I first met Melodie. And look where that got us.

Melodie’s mum gulps. She hasn’t actually shed any tears, but she is shaking. It takes her a minute to pull it together. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘So we need to look into the sleepwalking. I just have to find out what happened. I have to know. It’s too late, but somehow that doesn’t seem to matter.’

‘There’s one thing I’ve been wondering,’ I say carefully. ‘Who is Melodie’s patron? Did she tell you?’

‘Patron? What do you mean?’

Uh-oh. Why do I always. Say. The wrong. Thing??????

‘Nothing, never mind.’