She wondered what they were talking about. Hopefully Emily would relay the details to her later. In the meantime, she sat on the bed, her phone in her hand, scrolling through the memories people had left on Tiff’s Facebook page, tears spilling down her face.

Blood, pooling.

Grass, cool and tickly beneath her feet.

‘Can I blag one of them off you?’

Icy cold.

Fear.

‘She knows.’

Louisa sat up, her hands flying to her throat as she gasped for air. She sucked in huge mouthfuls, her lungs filling, painfully tight.

She waited until her heart rate stabilised, then stood up. Her head was woozy, like she’d been asleep for hours. She may well have been – the shock of finding Tiff like that had hit her hard.

Louisa turned to grab her phone, but it wasn’t on her bed. She’d had it though. She was looking at the memory page before she drifted off. She ran a hand along the underside of the bed – beneath the drawers there was little gap – but it wasn’t there. She threw up the duvet, checking under it.

‘For God’s sake, where is it?’

‘You looking for something?’

Louisa swung around at the sound of his voice.

‘What are you doing up here?’ she snapped at Oliver. He had a cheek, wandering about the house as if he lived there.

‘Brian wanted me to check on you, that’s all.’

‘Why couldn’t he check on me himself?’

A memory sparked as she said the words. At her fortieth party, when she’d supposedly gone off without telling anyone, Brian had said he hadn’t worried because Oliver had told him that he’d seen her stumbling into the accommodation block. And she’d questioned it then as she was doing now – why had Brian taken his word for it? Why hadn’t he checked on her himself?

‘He’s sorting people with some drinks.’

‘What? Sorting what people with drinks?’

‘A few people popped over. I think it’s because they know you and Tiff were such good friends and they want to pass on their condolences.’

‘Who?’ Louisa began ushering Oliver out of her bedroom, but he stopped at the top of the stairs to continue the conversation.

‘I thought I recognised a couple of them from your party, but I’ve no idea who they are really. Anyway, I’ll be off now. I don’t think you particularly want me here.’

She knew her facial expression would give away the fact that he was right. She didn’t want him in her house. But she didn’t want to outright tell him that, not now. It felt callous – and she’d experienced enough regret over the past few days to last her a while.

‘I’ve got questions to ask you, Oliver. I—’