“Mum! Hey, Mum!” he’d call out as I passed by on my way to the bathroom. “Why did the scarecrow get promoted?” I’d stop and pretend to have a think, but he’d never give me any time before shouting out the answer. “Because he was outstanding in his field, Mum!” Or whatever the punch line was, before whacking the bed with a flourish. “I reckon Jax’ll love that one!”

And while it might seem pretty par for the course for a boy who’s lost his best friend to stop making jokes, for Norman, you should understand it was a lot to lose. Two weeks after his twelfth birthday, which made it four weeks after Jax died, as I passed Norman’s room I slowed down, giving him time and hoping for even the faintest “Hey, Mum!” to stop me in my tracks. It didn’t come, like I knew it wouldn’t come, like it hadn’t come for the past month. His bedside lamp was dimmed down as low as it could go and he looked like a sad little bat blinking in the bed.

“Hey, Norman,” I whispered into the doorway. “You still awake?”

“Still awake, Mum.”

I took the deepest breath I could and prepared to launch the joke I’d been silently deliberating on for ten minutes at the top of the stairs. Go, Sadie, go.

“I... I was just wondering. What do porcupines say when they kiss?” I thought I saw the corner of the bat’s mouth curl up a little in the half dark. But I couldn’t be sure.

“I dunno, Mum. What do porcupines say when they kiss?” I could imagine the cogs and wheels moving beneath his flattened fringe and I wished I could see them grinding. Anything to show he was still there.

“Ouch!” I saw a flash of teeth as Norman’s lips opened slightly, mouthing the punch line, miraculously getting there at almost the same time I did. I’d said it too loudly, though, and the word was left hanging out on an uncomfortable limb in the silence. But he managed a snuffle into his chest in a pretend laugh anyhow.

“That’s a good one, Mum.” The hanging “ouch” breathed a sigh of relief, but my heart ached at the distance in Norman’s voice. It was like someone throwing it back over his shoulder as he walked away down a long hallway with a heavy suitcase, not like someone who’d just been treated to a reasonably funny joke. I was about to concede defeat and continue my trek to the bathroom when he spoke again.

“Hey, Mum?” His voice was very soft and it sounded like he’d reached the end of the hallway but not turned back around. I held my breath. Hoping for anything. “Do you think Jaxy’s in heaven?”

My heart leaped and dropped at the same time and I had to put my hand up against the door frame to stop myself from doubling over with its hijinks. Whatever was coming didn’t feel like it could possibly go well, bearing in mind my lack of answers on death and, consequently, beyond.