‘There was so much blood, Fran. There was so much. And not calling the ambulance –’

‘I know.’ Frannie shifts her weight on her bare feet.

‘Were you going faster than you said?’

‘No. I wasn’t.’ Frannie looks Cathy dead in the eye. Cathy holds it for a moment, bolstered by her own honesty.

‘Were you drunk?’

‘No.’

‘I feel like – you and Joe –’ Cathy starts, but at that moment, she hears him enter through the door, calling out to Frannie. ‘Speaking of.’

‘You feel like me and Joe what?’ Frannie says. Joe raises a hand in greeting to both of them and pours himself a Coke from Frannie’s fridge. They stand there, both of them in Frannie’s kitchen, looking at Cathy, a united front.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Joe says. ‘Let’s just say: a Labrador and a Nerf bullet walked into a bar …’

‘Any survivors?’ Frannie says drily.

‘All.’ Joe smiles. He’s a great vet. He always, always wanted to be one. Cathy remembers him very seriously pressing a fake stethoscope to his cat Peanut one afternoon after school and listening intently.

‘Do we want the wine you got too?’ Joe says. He wordlessly carries his Coke across Frannie’s kitchen and joins Cathy, sitting cross-legged at the open door. ‘It’s been a wine kind of week.’ He turns to look at his two sisters. Frannie grabs a bottle from the fridge and pulls out the cork with a pop. ‘The Wards wouldn’t pay their bill this evening. Almost went full Woolworths.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Joe,’ Frannie snaps, looking at him. ‘It was twenty years ago.’

Cathy hides a smile, though she understands where her youngest sister is coming from. The Woolworths tantrum when she was ten has become folklore in their family.

‘Now you really do need wine,’ Cathy says.

‘Cheers to that,’ Frannie says grimly.

‘I’m going to get a pizza,’ Joe says, bringing up an app on his phone.

‘No – I’m making homemade healthy chips.’

‘Healthy chips is an oxymoron,’ Joe says.

And suddenly it’s the same as it is most nights. All three siblings. Food, drink, banter, but Cathy is stifled by it, tonight.

‘Make yourself at home,’ Frannie says with a laugh. She leans over him, adding mushrooms to it, which he protests at. She puts the potatoes in water and places them in the fridge.

Cathy rubs at her forehead. What is happening? It’s a completely normal scene between them, and that’s what’s wrong.

Her sister seems absolutely fine, having killed somebody last week. There is something uneasy about it that she can’t untangle. Usually, she feels so comfortable sitting here by Frannie’s open doors. Whether it’s raining or snowing or sunny. But not tonight.

‘What do you want?’ Joe says to Cathy, holding up his phone. ‘Anything?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Cathy says, knowing she sounds uptight.

‘Oh, honestly,’ Frannie says, looking over her shoulder at Cathy. ‘Just have a pizza. Will’s still dead whether you have one or not.’