An enormous vase of flowers stood on a gilt coffee table in front of the television. He sat on the sofa and stared at it, examining the large pale petals in the gloom, and imagining Bea with Griff, going to where the crash had happened. He hated her going off with her bully of a father. He couldn’t think of Alex as dead, it made no sense to him. He felt for Bea, and wanted to be with her, not babysitting her mother, but he felt nothing for Alex. Not yet. No sadness. Nothing. Just anger at being hijacked by a disaster that wasn’t his, yet another thing her family had done to her. She didn’t even want to know them, and now they were both caught up. There was no point fighting it. He had to do what she wanted, and that meant what Griff wanted. He had to sit and wait in this strange and silent room, with the gaping television screen looming and the waxy petals gleaming. He needed a pee. He couldn’t get to the bathroom without going through the bedroom, and he shouldn’t do that. He imagined his pee splashing loudly and Liv hearing it. He pictured peeing in the vase of flowers and Liv appearing in the doorway and seeing him.

‘Ah –’ she said, in the bedroom, on her own. ‘Ah, ah, ah.’

It shocked him to hear her, not crying but saying ah, ah, ah – over and over. She sounded unaware of the noise she was making. She could do that, if it helped, it wasn’t his business. But the wails grew higher and a little louder with every repeated sound. It reminded him of women he’d seen on the news, some Middle Eastern war zone, flattened city, wailing in the rubble of their homes – keening and cawing in animal grief. He sat forward, shaking his head to himself, cornered by the sound. Eventually, he stood up and spoke to her through the gap in the door.

‘Liv? It’s Dan again. Is there something I can get for you? Are you OK?’