She reappeared. Lettie, turning to follow her to the door, paused then unlatched and lifted the lid of the freezer. The action was instinctive and without thought. Time stopped. For a couple of seconds, which in retrospect would stretch to minutes, she stared down at what lay below.

The lid fell out of her hands with a soft clang, and she slumped over the freezer, shaking uncontrollably. Her heart was pounding and something had happened to her voice. She gasped and tried to form words, but no sound came. At last, struggling, she found a voice. It didn’t sound like her voice, or anyone’s she knew. She croaked, “Candace, don’t look, don’t look! Don’t come!”

But Candace was pushing her aside, forcing the lid wide open against the weight of Lettie’s body. He was lying curled on his back, both legs raised stiffly in the air.

His feet must have been pressed against the lid of the freezer. His two hands, curved like claws, lay pale and delicate, the hands of a child. In his desperation he had beaten his hands against the lid; his knuckles were bruised and there were threads of dried blood on his fingers. His face was a mask of terror: the blue eyes wide and lifeless as a doll’s, the lips drawn back. He must have bitten his tongue in the final spasm and two trickles of blood had dried on his chin. He was wearing blue jeans and a blue-and-fawn-checked open-necked shirt. The smell, familiar and revolting, rose up like gas.

Somehow Lettie found the strength to stagger to one of the kitchen chairs and collapsed into it. And now, no longer standing, she began to regain her strength and her heartbeats became slower, more regular. She heard the sound of the lid being closed, but quietly, almost gently, as if Candace were afraid of waking the dead.

She looked across. Candace was standing motionless against the freezer. Then suddenly she began retching and, running to the stone sink, was violently sick, clutching the sink sides for support. The retching continued long after there was nothing to bring up, loud whooping cries which must have torn her throat. Lettie watched, wanting to help but knowing Candace wouldn’t want to be touched. Now Candace turned the tap to full power and was splashing water over her face as if the skin were on fire. Streams of water ran down over her jacket and her hair lay in sodden strands against her cheeks. Without speaking, she stretched out a hand and found a tea towel hanging by the sink on a nail, then wrung it out under the still-flowing tap and began again to wash her face. At last Lettie felt able to get to her feet and, placing an arm round Candace’s waist, led her to the second chair.

Candace said, “I’m sorry, it’s the stink. I never could stand that particular smell.”