The kitchen is the same but different and Chunjuan’s face is the same but different. She pops the microwave door to heat the milk.

The walls are a different colour since I was here last, peach instead of tan. Every appliance is stainless steel and new, but the scrolls on the wall are old and the photos in the frames are too. There’s a picture of Chunjuan and Stephen on a cruise ship, studio portraits of Albert and Nelson, and Yin’s old school photo, the one they used in the first news reports. Maybe the police are holding on to this year’s photo now. I look away quickly.

‘You should have come earlier.’ Chunjuan places a mug in front of me and a plate of biscuits too.

‘I know.’ I burn my mouth on the hot drink and sneak a close look at her. Her jeans and cardigan flap loosely, her face is a hundred years awake. She doesn’t look like she hates me for being alive and well and sitting in her house instead of Yin.

‘How are your parents?’

‘Good.’

‘Your mum sent me flowers. Chrysanthemum. Very nice.’

‘I have to give—’ I start, but Chunjuan gets in first.

‘It’s good you are here, Natalia. The school wants to hold a memorial service for Yin before the end of the year.’

‘What?’

‘They say it will help everyone cope with their exams.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it and Chunjuan gives me a disappointed look. ‘Sorry, but—it’s too soon. It’s not right.’

The police haven’t given up, at least I don’t think they have, so why should we? I don’t know what to believe anymore.

‘I understand why they want to do it. Maybe it’s good to close it off. To finish the year properly.’

‘No. It’s way too soon!’

Memorials are for remembering dead people, which is a way of saying that you plan to forget them really soon. The school acts like they want us to talk about our feelings, but really what they want is for us to pretend we’re only having nice pastel weepy emotions and concentrate on getting the kind of marks that will get us into law or medicine.

‘We’re not giving up. I will never give up.’ Chunjuan places a hand on her chest. ‘I still feel in my heart that she must be alive. I would know if she was gone. But it makes sense to do something to help you girls cope.’

Chunjuan reaches across the bench and catches my hand. She’s got proper surgeon’s hands, small and pale with long thin fingers, sinew underneath. I wonder if she’s still working or if Yin’s disappearance has cracked normal life apart completely. I can’t imagine her operating on people’s brains in the state she’s in.

I really, really want to believe that Yin is still alive and I’m afraid I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I want a church service.