‘Yes.’ She shot Portia a grateful glance. ‘That’s it exactly. There’s a tiny part of me that hopes they’ve made a mistake.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’ It wasn’t, of course, she knew that. Peter’s wallet held his driving licence. The photograph on it was clear. Such a good image of him she’d laughed when she’d seen it, teasing him about how good he looked when it was standard in such photographs to look hideous. ‘I have to see for myself.’

‘I’ll go with you.’

‘No, that’s okay, it’s not necessary. There’ll be someone… a liaison officer of some sort… who’ll be with me.’

Portia looked appalled. ‘You need more than a stranger to be with you, Allison.’ She held her hand up to stop any argument. ‘How about we do it this way. The liaison officer can go in with you to identify poor Peter and I’ll be there waiting for you when you come out. We’ll go for lunch somewhere, drink cocktails and celebrate Peter’s life.’

Allison knew her friend meant well. It was probably something she’d read in one of her damn psychology books. Something banal about focusing on the positive. Celebrate Peter’s life. She wanted to scream at her, but the weight of loss was smothering her, blinding her, rendering her numb. Nothing made sense. Not even the answer she finally managed to squeeze through tight lips. ‘Thank you. I knew I called you for a reason.’

‘Yes, and I’m going to be with you through this, and for as long afterwards as you need me.’ Portia got to her feet and picked up the holdall she’d kicked into a corner hours before. She stood holding it and frowned. ‘Maybe it would be better if you came back to ours? You could stay for as long as you wanted. We’d both love to have you, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Allison smiled sadly. ‘And that’s really kind of you.’ She ran a hand over her hair. She remembered Peter running his fingers through it once when they’d returned from a restaurant, full of good food and wine. A hand on her shoulder startled her back to the present. She wanted to slap it away, to tell Portia she needed to stay in the past a little longer.

‘We’d better get some sleep.’

Portia was right, of course, but Allison wasn’t in the mood to be sensible. She’d have preferred to have stayed there and, despite earlier reservations, get senselessly, stinkingly drunk and stay that way for a long, long time. Certainly, until these next few days were over. It was one way of dealing with the unthinkable.