‘It’s about Valerie,’ said Norah.

Her bag was next to her on the sofa. On a chest of drawers, behind Monika, stood family photos from happier days. Norah tried not to look.

‘I don’t know if you knew,’ she went on, ‘but in the class above us at school, there was this boy all the girls were crazy about. Including me. And Valerie.’

Monika smiled.

‘I remember. What was his name again?’

‘Milo.’

She gave a loud laugh.

‘Milo, that’s right. Goodness, he thought he was cool, didn’t he, with his gelled hair and his mirrored shades.’

She smiled.

‘It’s sometimes hard for parents to relate to their daughters’ tastes.’

Norah ignored this remark, determined not to let Monika distract her. She felt her fingers start to tremble and pressed them against her thighs.

‘I was going out with him back then,’ she said. ‘Valerie really resented it.’

This time Monika said nothing, but she was still smiling.

‘Do you remember how amazed we all were that Valerie didn’t leave a note?’

A shadow passed over Monika’s face.

‘That wasn’t actually true. There was a letter. And…’

She had thought carefully about what she would say, but now she couldn’t find the words.

‘I should have said something. I should have told the police. I should have told you. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.’

She reached over to her bag, took out the envelope and held it out to Monika.

‘I’m sorry.’

Valerie’s mother looked at it without moving a muscle.

‘This was from Valerie?’ she asked.

Norah nodded.

‘She must have brought it round before she…’

She couldn’t say the words.

Monika took the letter from Norah, slowly, cautiously, as if it might snap at her.

‘It was my fault,’ said Norah. ‘She killed herself because of me. And I didn’t even have the decency to tell her family—’

She broke off, feeling Monika’s eyes on her.

‘You’ve had it all this time,’ Monika said. ‘Almost twenty years.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Norah whispered.

She looked up and saw Monika running her fingers over Valerie’s writing on the envelope.

‘You can read it, if you like,’ Norah said and then neither of them spoke for a long time.

Norah sat there with lowered head. She heard the rustle of paper as Monika took the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it, and she closed her eyes while Monika read. Then she heard the soft rustle of skin on paper again and didn’t dare look up. She heard a gentle click in Monika’s throat as she swallowed; she heard a car drive past outside; she heard the metallic tick of Monika’s watch.

‘I’m sorry,’ Norah said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

For a long time Monika sat frozen on her chair. Then she got up and left the room without a word. She was gone some minutes; Norah began to think she wasn’t ever coming back, but then she heard footsteps and Monika reappeared with a book in her hand. As she came nearer, Norah saw that it was the first Harry Potter. Monika sat down. She seemed slower than before—older, more fragile.