As Cris sat down beside him, Karl felt the warmth of his leg next to his own. He’d not spoken in days. It was a hard habit to break, though. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t know what to say, or because he’d forgotten how to speak in the first place.

No, that was indulgent. He just found it hard, when he was trying not to break down, trying to hold it together. But for whom?

‘Stop, now,’ Cris said. And he held Karl’s face and turned it towards him. ‘You don’t have to do this alone,’ he said, although it hadn’t occurred to Karl that he was doing anything alone. He’d thought he was being useless.

‘I’ve done nothing,’ he said. And it was a way to start, which helped.

‘Then let’s do nothing together, for a while,’ Cris said. ‘But do you mind if I talk? I find it helpful, to talk.’

Karl nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ and he leaned in closer, and held him.

‘I went to see Kaz yesterday,’ Cris said.

Karl looked up in surprise.

‘While you were sleeping.’

‘I’m sor—’

‘You needed to sleep,’ Cris said. ‘And I needed to see Kaz. So stop apologising.’

Karl swallowed. ‘OK.’

They were holding hands.

‘How is he?’

Cris shook his head a little. ‘He’s chopped down a silver birch and cut it into little pieces with an axe.’

‘Kaz?’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t seem like him, does it? Didn’t think he even knew how to use an axe.’

‘I don’t know how to use an axe,’ Karl said.

‘It’s easy actually,’ Cris smiled. ‘You just hold it high and let it fall.’

Karl pictured the movement, the transfer of energy, the arc of it. Perhaps it did make sense. He would like to use it in his choreography. The thought made him change slightly, as though his mind had shifted. Ideas had the power to do that.

‘But …’ Cris said, and Karl’s mind switched back again. He felt his stomach sinking. ‘I’m worried. He seems to think … He kept saying it was his fault.’

‘It wasn’t his fault – why would he think that?’

‘Apparently some of the staff were asking questions when he took … when they brought the … at the autopsy.’

‘The staff at the birthing centre?’

‘At FullLife, yes. They might not have meant—’

‘That’s outrageous.’ Karl wanted to stand up, to pace, or run, or do something. He wanted some action, after days of inaction. He had to do something. ‘How could they blame him?’

‘It used to be fairly common to blame women, I think.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I mean in our parents’ generation.’

Karl looked at him, not getting it. Truth was, he’d never really thought about it. There had never been a need.