‘Take that with you then.’ Patrick gestured to the radio. ‘I have another one around somewhere.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘It’s really very Eve in here, isn’t it’ I looked up at the Oriental fabrics hanging loosely in sections from the ceiling.

‘Sure is. Thought she was going to break her bloody neck trying to attach those things. She loved to take a risk.’ Patrick looked at me. ‘You don’t think she did anything stupid that night, do you? To cause the accident?’

I immediately shook my head. ‘No I don’t. She was popping back to get her purse. That was all. What could she have possibly dreamt up to do that would have caused her death?’

‘The explosion, that’s what killed her.’

‘Yes, the explosion.’ There was panic in my voice, the blame was bearing down hard on me. I thought back to a few weeks ago when I had promised to get the cooker fixed.

‘Well, they pretty much said so, Daisy. They can’t completely be sure, but it’s the only plausible reason. How much have you been told? I know you’ve been out of it a bit. Best way, I say. But I’ve spoken to the police. I’ve had my own liaison officer.’ Patrick gave me a sympathetic look. I felt ashamed for being drugged out of my head for the last fortnight whilst Patrick carried on dealing with everything. ‘But she might have been trying to do something. With the oven?’ Patrick continued.

‘I know, Patrick, I know.’ I needed him to stop speaking about that night. I couldn’t think about it. I cast my eyes over the bottle of brandy. ‘Can I just have one glass? For Eve’s sake?’ I pleaded. I needed something to take the edge off the anxiety.

‘Yep. Why not,’ he grunted as he lifted himself from the sofa. ‘I’ll get some glasses.’

Patrick got stuck into the bottle too easily, I cradled my one glass making every mouthful count whilst we chatted and reminisced about Eve. Every now and again I would cry and Patrick would instantly put a hand out to comfort me, seeming to refrain from showing any emotion himself. He must have been hurting, but the years at an all-boys school had taught him to hold everything in.

Patrick poured himself another glass. I swirled the dregs around my glass then took the final mouthful, letting the warm liquid trickle down my throat. I looked at Patrick. His eyes were sparkling in the low lighting of the room, his cheeks reddening from the heat and alcohol. His face looked more appealing with the weight he had lost over the last few weeks. He was watching me intently. I smiled self-consciously.

I held his gaze for a moment then held my empty glass out to clink with Patrick’s. ‘Here’s to us and to getting through today.’

Patrick clinked my glass. Then he stood up and took me by the arm. I looked hesitantly at him. Patrick seemed to morph into a competent sober man in front of my eyes.