Ivan was calling to her from the other side of the garden. Clodagh walked over to him, her heart swelling with love for the chubby Croatian who’d become one of her closest friends. As she drew nearer to him, the bitter smell of nicotine hit her. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, nodding at the cigarette clasped between his thumb and forefinger.

‘How many of those have you smoked already?’

‘As many as my body has told me I need. You should try smoking, you know. It might help chill you out a bit.’

‘I’m perfectly chilled, thank you.’

He threw his head back and laughed. Despite everything, Clodagh couldn’t help smiling. Ivan’s big-belly laugh was contagious. Partly because he had so much belly to put into it.

‘You, lady, are the least chilled person I know. Actually, that is not true. Your boyfriend is worse than you are.’

‘Adam? Most people say how laid-back he is.’

‘Most people don’t know shit. Your boyfriend reminds me of Sandra.’

‘Who’s Sandra?’

‘My boss. The headmistress of the school I’m working at. I told you about her last night. Keep up, lady.’

‘Ah yes. How could I forget?’

Ivan had spent a large chunk of last night regaling her with tales of his new job, teaching cookery at an exclusive private school in Worthing. Not the most obvious job choice, and Clodagh still had no clue how he’d persuaded the school to hire him. There was nothing vaguely teacher-like about Ivan. A big man with a seventies-style, drooping moustache and a round stomach, he looked like a retired porn star. The floral shirt he was wearing this morning, open to reveal a hugely hairy chest and a gold medallion, only added to the impression.

‘Sandra practises her meditation every morning and tells everyone how transformative it is. Which is a load of crap, I can tell you. Because if her meditation is so transformative, why does she lose her shit at the smallest thing?’

While he talked, Clodagh felt some of the tension leaving her body. Ivan always had that effect on her. No matter how bad things were, and there had been plenty of bad times over the last five years, he’d always been able to make her smile.

‘So, enough about my crazy boss,’ Ivan said, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his leather loafer. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Hunky-dory,’ she said, ‘how do you think?’

‘Sorry. That was a stupid question.’

‘No less than I expected.’

‘Watch it, lady. It’s too early to start into me. I need my hangover to clear first. Seriously, it must have been horrible for you.’

So horrible, Clodagh knew she’d never forget it.

‘Do you know how he died?’ Ivan asked.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak without breaking down.