I nod, but I don’t think she sees. She pats my arm and Nick’s dad gestures toward the door.

On the way home I ask her what they talked about during those fifteen minutes, when I could see only the tops of their heads through the living-room window. “Nothing, really,” she says. “Just Nick.”

I daren’t push it. I’m just relieved to be speeding home, rocked into a trance by the train’s bumpy gallop.

—

Even after the funeral is over, the suspense thickens every day. There are so many things that make my pulse fly—the ringing phone, visitors at the door. Becca and Auntie Rach come back whenever they can, usually at weekends, Auntie Rach bringing dirty potatoes from a friend’s garden or little bottles of brandy for her and Mum to share. Becca and I try to catch moments alone, but it’s impossible in the flat, and I’m not sure what we’d say to each other anyway.

We’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast when it finally happens. The only sound is teeth crunching burned toast. It doesn’t seem like we can get much quieter, but all noises evaporate as a knock thuds on the door. It’s as if we know this isn’t just another neighbor with a watery chicken stew.

Auntie Rach answers it and comes back with two policemen. They introduce themselves but I don’t take it in—I’m not even sure if they’re the ones I’ve met before. I notice, distantly, that I’ve dropped my toast jam-side down onto my plate.

“We’re here following the postmortem and toxicology report for Mr. Nicholas Wood,” one of the policemen says. “We need to ask you about some medication found in his system.”

I grip the edges of my chair. I don’t know where to look, how to make my legs stop twitching.

“Antidepressants?” Mum asks.

“Well, yes, a low dosage of antidepressants was found. Analysis of Mr. Wood’s blood and urine, combined with his medical records, suggests he’d been taking those for around four weeks. But it’s unlikely that was the cause of death.”

It’s Auntie Rach who asks the question. “Then what was?”

“After several rounds of testing, the toxicology team also found an anticonvulsant in Mr. Wood’s system. They estimate he ingested it around eight to twelve hours before he fell ill.”

I make myself focus on the police, a slight frown on my face, hoping a deep flush isn’t bleeding into my cheeks. The fridge is buzzing like an insect in the corner, the noise it makes when it’s on the blink.

“An anticonvulsant?” Mum echoes.