“What I’ve been meaning to ask you is would you and Kevin prefer to be in the house? We can swap. Stuart thought that it may be nicer for you, but I’d hate to be in the way and—”

“Not at all. The whole arrangement suits us perfectly.” She pauses. “We would’ve come sooner, you know. For the funeral or soon after, but Stuart thought it would be better now. That he’d need the support as time went on. He was in so much shock.”

“We all were.”

I excuse myself immediately after dinner. I run a bath. In the darkness, I watch the lavender-scented candle—my Christmas present to Nina last year—flicker. If Suzanne is right, if she has somehow picked up on something (as outsiders are prone to, seeing as they can home in on things that people who are too close can’t), how come I didn’t know she was that unhappy as opposed to having normal periods of discontent? Did Tamsin know anything?

Jealousy prods at my mind, clouding my thoughts and memories. Every avenue I explore draws a blank. I can’t think of one thing—not one—that suggests Nina had made a mistake in marrying Stuart. Not even a hint, and obviously, after her diagnosis, our collective focus shifted toward getting her well. The water turns lukewarm, then cold, before I realize I’m shivering. My mind none the clearer, I get out, towel myself dry and blow out the candle.

Felix and Em’s nativity the following early evening is perfect timing. It’s nice to get out, to do something different. I spent ages making a narrator’s costume for Felix. Emily is a shepherd, so it was easy enough to knock something together with a tea towel. They’re not the best costumes by any means, but I was determined to give it a go. Nina obviously didn’t know what they were going to be this year, but had wanted to contribute nonetheless, so she’d ordered an array of costumes online: Mary, Joseph, wise men, stars, camels, angels. When I took the slips out of their schoolbags and saw their parts, it was such a cruel and blatant reminder that Nina had tried so hard to see into the future. I considered speaking to their teachers to see if they’d switch their parts, but I dithered so much that I left it too late.

Deborah doesn’t compliment the costumes. She sits next to Suzanne and only speaks to me when I address her. She reminds me so much of Nina in a mood. Same pursed mouth, same unforgiving stares. I concentrate ahead, smile and clap. Stuart bought me a ticket. He asked me to come. I have a right to be here.

I concentrate on taking the best photos I can, even though every few minutes, my vision blurs with tears. It’s my responsibility now to record their childhood in any way I see best. Nina’s memory book won’t be a one-off project for me. I’m determined to create optimistic, hopeful stories. I’ve got this.