‘Who is that, Gilbert?’ Using her voice for visitors, my regression to adolescence all forgotten. If MPs could bury their awkward truths half as well as my mother, I’d be out of a job. And because I am more her son than I care to admit, I call back, ‘It’s Jeremy, Mum. From Clare’s work.’

‘Jeremy.’ You would think he was her long-lost son. She bustles towards us, her wide mouth almost forming a smile. ‘So good of you to come.’

He pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I think I am supposed to say “long life”.’

‘Thank you, Jeremy. So kind of you. Gilbert didn’t offer you tea, I suppose.’ Of course he didn’t. She supposed right. A misdemeanour to add to the crimes. ‘The kettle is on. Or perhaps a proper drink? Gil, could you show Jeremy upstairs?’

I stifle a ‘but Mum’ as she moves to the kitchen.

He looks troubled. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask as we head for the sitting room.

He lowers his voice: ‘Well, yes. But I need to ask . . . Do you know if there was anything going on with Clare?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Her behaviour had been unusual in the last few weeks. She kept popping out of the office, nothing in the diary. She even missed scheduled meetings. I had to cover up for her. It was out of character. I wondered if something was, you know, troubling her?’

I’d have been the last to know. But I find it hard to believe anything got on top of my perfect sister.

‘Like the cycle helmet thing,’ he continues. ‘It was weird. She looked everywhere for it yesterday evening before she went out. She couldn’t find it. But when I went into her room this morning it was where she always kept it, on the shelf behind her desk.’ He bites his lip. ‘It’s not like her to be so distracted.’

I nod. ‘If there’s one thing I know – knew – about my sister, she made sure everything was in the right place.’

We are by the sitting room door when there is a crash of crockery breaking, and the wail of a child. Luke had walked over to a coffee table, covered in plates of beigels, and pushed it over. ‘I want Mummy, I want Mummy,’ he cries. The room is in turmoil as everyone tries to mop spilled drinks and retrieve pieces of egg. Uncle Jake rushes over to scoop up the small, weeping boy.

It is my cue to run.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Monday, 10 March