‘I looked it up on wikiHow,’ she said. Kate could picture her eyes, alive with morbid curiosity. ‘After all that they clip your fingernails and put gel in your hair and put make-up on. It doesn’t even matter if you’re a boy or not. They still put the make-up on. Sometimes the eyes won’t stay shut so they have to use superglue. Oh, and sometimes, if the body is, you know, leaky, they have to use plastic undies. Sorry, is this TMI?’

Kate thought about leaving monsters under beds and said, ‘No, monkey. It’s not TMI. What happens next?’

After hanging up with Mia, Kate couldn’t get back to sleep. A series of practical questions kept her mind buzzing. When should she begin planning the funeral? Who did she need to inform about John’s death? What was she going to do with the holiday house?

Feeling overwhelmed and light-headed, she got out of bed and took a shower. She sat down on the tiles and closed her eyes. She imagined her pain was sand and tried to visualise the hot water washing it all away. It didn’t work. She got out, dried herself and dressed. She brewed a cup of instant coffee – there was no milk in the minibar, so she had to take it black – and sat down on the spongy motel mattress.

She flicked through the channels on the TV for a while, then lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. As morning light filled the room, she thought of the manhole cover at the holiday house. She pictured the pencil-width opening and wondered what – if anything – lay beyond it.

Two coffees later she couldn’t stand being in the room a minute longer, grabbed her car keys and decided to take a drive. On her way to the Lexus, she paused outside Fisher’s room and looked through the window, half expecting to see a light on. The room beyond was dark. The night before, he’d had a bottle of Chivas even before she got to him, so she guessed he’d be sleeping it off for a few more hours. She knocked on the door gently, just in case.

Fisher emerged, faster than expected. Had he been sitting in the dark?

‘Did I wake you?’ she asked.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t think I slept.’

‘I’m heading out. Need me to pick anything up for you?’

He held up an index finger as if to say, one moment please. He ducked back into the room and reappeared a second later. ‘I’m all out of cigarettes. Would you mind?’

‘Of course not.’

She climbed into the car and drove to Bay Street, easing to a crawl outside the Buy & Bye, where John had stopped for groceries, wearing a parka and an unreadable expression. The supermarket wasn’t open yet, so she headed to Neef Street.