The worn cotton T-shirts in her arms were comforting and agonising. It felt too intimate to hold them, empty, and not hers, and losing life every second, but she didn’t want to let go of them.

‘Do you know the story about the elephant and the blind men?’ he said.

She looked up at him, too surprised to answer.

‘Do you know it?’ he said.

She did, but he was going to tell it to her.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Three blind men are asked to describe an elephant, yes? The first blind man, he holds out his hand and feels one of the elephant’s long tusks. “You want me to describe it?” he says. “An elephant is long and hard, like a pipe” – or something like that.’

Bea studied him, completely absorbed.

‘And the second man, he is holding the elephant’s tail. He says, “No, no! An elephant is not like a pipe at all, an elephant has bristles, like a brush.”’

He was gesturing and closing his eyes, as if he were discovering an imaginary elephant. She put Alex’s clothes down on the bed, next to her.

‘And the third man,’ said Vincent, ‘who is touching the side of the elephant, he says, “You are both wrong, an elephant is definitely big and flat, like a wall.” So they can’t agree, and they argue, because each one is sure he is right.’ He looked at her eagerly. ‘OK?’

‘Yes,’ said Bea.

‘I don’t remember the end, I think the King comes and explains to them – it doesn’t matter, you see, to me, this story is like investigating a crime. We have the witnesses, the evidence – all of these elements. Each one is a small part. My problem is to put them together. That is my job. But for the family, it is different. They are angry. They want to have answers and know everything.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s hard,’ he said. ‘People want explanations. For me, when I see the whole story, I find the guilty man, and then it’s finished.’

‘Justice,’ said Bea, looking down.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Justice. Peace, maybe.’

She wondered if she ever would feel peace again, or if there could be such a thing as justice for Alex. She didn’t think so. Vincent was looking at her. He thought she’d feel better if she talked to him, but he didn’t know her.

‘Did you study philosophy?’ she asked.

‘Me?’ he smiled, suddenly boyish. ‘No. I went to music college. In Bordeaux.’

‘Music?’

‘Yes, and I am in a rock band with my brother, Félix. We play covers, and some of our own songs, too.’

‘Do you write songs?’

‘No, no, but Félix does, and he sings.’

‘What does Félix do? His work I mean.’

‘He’s an engineer. Three kids already. I’m just the guitarist. You know –’ He began to play air guitar but stopped, embarrassed to have forgotten himself.