All afternoon at the reception I had to keep up the pretense that Tom was a great guy. “We had our differences, but I’m so sorry to lose him,” I said again and again. I’d planned this well in advance, knowing I’d struggle with what to say. “Yes, it was a terrible shock” and “It’s such a tragedy when someone dies so young.” And then I’d move on with, “Will you excuse me? I should speak to his relations.” And off I’d go until someone else approached me.

Oliver came to the funeral. He’d been away for a couple of weeks and didn’t know Tom had died until another neighbor told him on his return. He’d called me immediately and offered to help with the funeral arrangements. He’d clearly moved past our conversation on the riverfront and told me about a woman he’d met on holiday whom he’d be meeting up with soon. It sounded as though they’d gotten along really well and he was hopeful something would come of it. He was polite at first but soon relaxed into being the friend I’d had for so long.

Sarah didn’t show up. When we had a quiet moment, Oliver told me that when he checked his work e-mails after his holiday, he found a message from her, telling him she’d walked out of Sheridan’s. She wanted to know whether there were any jobs going at his place. I asked him if they’d talked about Tom’s death, but he said he hadn’t had time to talk to her and that she hadn’t mentioned it in her message. It didn’t sound as though he’d be rushing to call her anytime soon, though that might have been wishful thinking on my part. I really didn’t want Sarah to cast a critical eye over what happened that day.

He rescued me a few times at the reception. “I can’t believe someone you’ve never met has just asked you to tell them exactly what happened, as though your life’s some sort of soap opera and they’ve missed an episode,” he whispered as we left someone who’d worked with Tom for only a few months but who seemed desperate to know the gruesome details of his death. “How come you’re not angry?”

“I just keep reminding myself I’ll never have to see them again.”

“Is your friend here?”

“Which one?”

“Emma. The woman who was there when he fell downstairs.” Oliver put his arm around my shoulders and I turned to him just for a moment, for comfort. “It must have been horrible.”