Brian’s arm on hers alerted her to the fact everyone had now taken their seats. Louisa sat down and with the service sheet on her lap, read it through, word for word, front to back. When she finished, she started it again. That was how she was going to get through this service.

The church air had been cool – it was always that way. But stepping outside now, the change in temperature and atmosphere began to rejuvenate Louisa. She’d become drowsy during the hymns and readings, the constant rereading of the order of service causing her to wilt. She was vaguely aware of being guided, by Brian, around the side of the church. And suddenly, like a smack in the face, Louisa was completely alert.

They were heading to the graveside.

Her feet retraced the steps she’d taken twelve hours earlier. In her mind, she watched herself and Melissa dragging the body along the path, across the grass. Her pulse quickened; sweat pricked under her armpits. Brian reached down to take her hand. She snatched it away.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

She nodded, not daring to attempt speech. She couldn’t let Brian hold her hand – he’d feel the blisters and ask how she’d got them. Instead, she balled each hand into a fist, her nails almost piercing the bubbles of fluid-filled pockets of skin. She winced, but wanted the pain. She deserved it.

Finally, after some shuffling of bodies into spaces around the headstones, they came to a standstill. After casting her eyes briefly around the grave and surrounding area, Louisa hung her head; she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone for fear they would see behind them, read what was in them – they’d guess what had happened here the night before. She fiddled with her fingers, and as she looked at them, her world turned into darkness as her inner voice spoke, telling her what she was trying not to hear:

I can still feel the mud embedded deep under my fingernails, taste the dirt on my lips. Can still see the eyes: shining like glass, open and staring, deep in their sockets. Dead.

In my mind I watch the earth piling onto the body, slowly blotting out what’s been done. Finally covering those eyes, so they can’t judge anymore.

I’m confident no trace of it can lead back to me.

Part of me feels regret; a sadness that it came to such a drastic act.

For the moment, my conscience is telling me I’m guilty.

But I know that can be buried too.

Louisa swallowed the guilt and blinked the visions of the previous night away. Now, her head raised, she watched as Tiff’s light-oak coffin was lowered into the ground.

Lowered on top of Oliver’s body.