‘How? Why?’ The two words somehow squeezed themselves from Louisa’s mouth as she continued to watch the unfolding scene – wondering how she’d got caught up in this surreal moment.

The paramedic let the air expel from the cuff, removed the stethoscope from her ears and gave Louisa’s arm a rub.

‘Accidents in the home, particularly in the kitchen and bathroom, are among the top reasons we’re called out,’ she said. ‘It’s tragic when the result is a fatality. There’s nothing you could’ve done, love. Such a severe bang to the head, I don’t think there’d have been any coming back from that. I’m so sorry.’

Louisa tore her eyes from the house and looked up at the paramedic. She was just being kind, doing her job. Did she really think there was nothing Louisa could’ve done, even if she’d realised the previous day and been able to call the ambulance straight away?

Because the feeling in her gut was telling her it was likely that Tiff had been lying on the kitchen floor for over twenty-four hours.

‘If you’re so sure it was an accident, why are all these police here?’ The amount of police presence seemed incongruent for the situation.

‘It’s procedure, love. A sudden death, like this one, has to be investigated and the police do have to consider whether, well, you know, whether there was … third party involvement, let’s say.’

‘You mean they’re treating it as suspicious?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Yeah, well – they have to do it all properly, don’t they? And until they’re sure that the circumstances indicate otherwise, yes, they will have to approach the scene as potentially requiring a homicide investigation.’

It was a good thing Louisa was already sitting because the strange flip-flop her insides performed caused her to wobble.

Pain throbbed at her temples as questions bombarded her shocked mind. What happened now? Who would inform Tiff’s family, her friends? Should she? She ran her fingers through her hair, catching them in the tangles where the breeze had whipped it up. She suddenly realised she was cold. Really cold – her skin rough with goose bumps.

‘Can I call someone for you?’ The uniformed officer she’d first spoken to when he arrived at the house appeared beside her and crouched down to her level. Her bum was numb from sitting on the ground, but she didn’t have the energy to stand.

‘Brian, my husband, please?’ she said weakly, handing over her mobile phone without making eye contact with the officer. ‘It’s unlocked, his number is in the recent call history.’