“Please don’t apologise,” she said, as she gestured him to the big basket chair in the corner by the window. “Would you like something to drink?” She wondered what to offer him. He was still shivering although it was warm in the flat. “Coffee?” she suggested. “Or hot chocolate?”

Johnny smiled and his face became boyish, transformed. “You have hot chocolate? The proper stuff? With whipped cream and marshmallows and sprinkles? That would be awesome.”

Lizzie laughed, opening the cupboard to get out the hot chocolate maker. It was one of the few gadgets she actually used. Her cupboards were bursting with shiny expensive stuff she’d never touched, but since she loved chocolate, she had made an effort to learn how to do this.

“I’m very sorry we didn’t get the chance to talk last time,” she said, over her shoulder. “I’ve been wondering how you were. Things must be so awful for you—” She stopped, not wanting to sound trite or even to imply that she knew how he must feel with his grief so new and so raw. Bereavement was a uniquely horrible and lonely experience. She had recognised Johnny’s misery and wanted to offer comfort but she knew he might not want it.

Johnny was watching her and though his long, lanky body was now slumped wearily in the chair, his blue gaze was alert and sharp. Yet she sensed no animosity in him, not like she had with Arthur. Her reaction to Arthur had been so vivid and complex but she didn’t need any psychic powers to read Johnny. He was a boy pushed to the limit of his endurance.

“They won’t let us bury Amelia,” Johnny said abruptly, “not whilst the police investigation is going on. She’s lying in cold storage somewhere. And they’ve rehashed all the stories about Mum’s death, and even dragged Jenna into it. They say we’re cursed.” His mouth twisted. “I’m not sure I can bear it.” He shifted uncomfortably as though his bones were too sharp. “I mean, I know I have to, somehow... But I don’t know how I will.”

Lizzie put the chocolate maker carefully on the worktop and turned to look at him.

“No,” she said. “Sometimes it can seem impossible to believe that you will ever be able to cope or that you will ever feel any better.”

Johnny smiled faintly. “Most people tell me that I’ll be fine,” he said. “That doesn’t help.”

“Most people don’t know what to say at times like this,” Lizzie said. “They’re doing their best but they’re out of their depth.”

Johnny’s mouth twisted. “I suppose it’s better than the people who say nothing at all and ignore me because they feel awkward,” he said. He shrugged. “The whole thing is a hideous media circus anyway, thanks to Dudley—” He stopped; looked awkward. “Sorry, can we talk about him?”

“Sure,” Lizzie said, “we can talk about whatever you like.” She poured milk into the machine and added the chocolate syrup. The hot chocolate maker hummed into life.