I could have lied. But it wouldn’t have been a good one; mine and Bea’s conversation obviously had some kind of context and honestly, I wanted to tell June about the messages. Maybe I’d just been rendered brave by what happened at the River Styx – that I’d convinced myself tonight would be a night of sharing – but also, maybe I wanted her to know. Or maybe it was too exhausting to continue lying by omission.

So I told her. I told her about the first one after the funeral and each one after, and the ‘present’ I’d been given, every relevant event, all with drunken flair, and she listened intently the whole time, wincing at the parts that were bad enough to merit a wince; though not a complete night of sharing because I decided to leave out the parts where I thought all of this was perhaps the work of a murderer who’d happened to kill my dad. ‘Olivia and I thought for sure that it had to have been Bea, but, I don’t know. You tell me. Did she look guilty?’

‘She looked fucking terrified, is what she looked like.’

I laughed. ‘Well, yeah. So I don’t know. I just don’t think – now I feel like there’s something going the fuck on and it’s pissing me off.’

‘Well – who else … do you think it could be?’ Halfway through the question something changed on her face; maybe it was just because she was drunk, or maybe because she realized the magnitude of the situation, or maybe she could see the red lights flashing murder behind my eyes.

‘That’s the thing,’ I said. ‘I don’t know.’

That was when I became really nauseous.

It was mostly the alcohol. Definitely mostly the alcohol.

‘Uh, sorry, June,’ I managed to squeak through the rising vomit. ‘Is there a bathroom?’

‘Yeah, out and left – do you want me to come with you?’

‘No,’ I said, already halfway out the room. ‘Definitely not. Thanks.’

I made it just in time. And then I was sick. Completely, beautifully sick.

I carefully wiped the seat with toilet paper and washed my hands twice, already feeling the fog lifting from in front of my eyes. Ah, yes. This was what the world actually was. I leaned on the sink, held on for dear life. Wiped at the wetness underneath my eyes. My braids had gone all loose and wispy, and there was a stain from an unidentifiable source smack dab in the middle of my hoodie. But there was still something lighter about me. My shoulders or my stance, or something. I wasn’t sure.

‘Did you puke?’ June asked when I reclaimed my spot beside her.

‘Oh, did I,’ I said. It seemed there was still some alcohol in my system.

‘God. Tomorrow we’re both joining AA. And … going to church.’