Ron’s white face paled still further. His hands convulsed around hers, and she tried not to be reminded of Cullen’s dying grasp. Then there came a yowl and Eustace appeared, butting his old head against her hip.

‘He’s hungry,’ Ron muttered, ‘but the door to upstairs is locked.’

‘I’m sorry, old puss,’ Rachel said, reclaiming one hand from Ron’s to pet the cat.

‘I would have gone and bought him some food,’ Toby added, ‘but I didn’t want to leave Ron alone.’

Rachel got back to her feet, still holding onto Ron’s hands. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It was very good of you to stay. I’m sorry I rushed out so quickly, but—’

Toby raised both palms. ‘No need.’

She glanced away from him, not sure what else to say, wanting to dismiss him from this space but not wanting to be rude to someone who had shown such kindness. She didn’t know how to deal with Ron, either. She was exhausted, drained to her bones. All she wanted to do was turn off the lights and curl up in a dark room, pretend the world did not exist. But Ron had lost his best friend and would be going home to an empty house, where he likely would not eat.

‘Ron,’ Toby said gently, as if he had read her mind. ‘Why don’t you come back with me? We both need some food. We’ll toast to Cullen. You can tell me more about him.’

Rachel looked at him gratefully as he helped the old man out of his chair. Bukowski, daft as he was, knew that something was wrong and was glued to his master’s side.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said quietly.

‘It’s nothing.’

For once, Ron himself could find nothing to say. He hugged her hard enough for Rachel to feel his stuttering heart, his cheek against hers. She hugged him too.

Rachel waited long enough for them to reach the bottom of the hill before she closed the lighthouse doors. She didn’t want Ron to hear the sound of her turning the lock. She couldn’t bear to look at Cullen’s chair as she crossed the circular room to the stairs. Eustace was complaining, and rightly so, and it seemed to Rachel that all she had to do was accomplish that one small task, to feed a hungry cat. She climbed the iron staircase and unlocked the door to her tiny apartment, letting Eustace shoot up them ahead of her as she flicked off the lights to the bookshop, plunging it into darkness, aside from the one dim nightlight that always remained lit. The cavern of it, which had never seemed anything less than soothing to her before, now contained an emptiness that she knew would never be filled.

She went up into the kitchen and fed the cat, pausing for a moment to stroke him as he wolfed his food, feeling the purr reverberate through his familiar form. Then she went up to her bedroom and toed off her shoes. Rachel lay down on her bed, too despondent to even remove her clothes. She rolled her face to the curved wall and sobbed until she slept.