“Oh,” I said, cursing myself for not having put it away. “That’s—Well, it’s my chart.”

Fergus bent over it, dabbing at the wine with his sleeve. “It’s very colorful. Is it work?”

“No.” I hesitated. “Actually, it shows where Greg was during the last few weeks of his life.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Ellie.” He seemed dazed. “It’s amazing. It must have taken forever. But why?”

“Because . . .” I was glad I hadn’t put out Milena’s chart: it was still a work in progress.

“What is it?” Jemma had joined us and so, a few minutes later, had most of the others in the room.

“There’s almost no time unaccounted for!” Josh sounded either impressed or scared, I couldn’t tell which.

I took a deep breath. These were my friends, after all, and suddenly it seemed important to make a public declaration. “I did it because I wanted to work out when Greg would have been with that woman. And you see”—I waved at the chart—“He wasn’t. There are barely any gaps. He simply didn’t have the time.”

I stared at them. Nobody was smiling or nodding; everyone was looking at me gravely, or with embarrassment. “So, something else was going on,” I said ominously, hearing my words fall into the silence. “Something bad.”

“Bad?”

“I think he was murdered.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Let me pour you some wine,” said Joe at last, taking the bottle from Fergus.

“No, thanks. You all think I’m mad, I can tell.”

“No!” said Fergus. “We think you’re . . .” I could see him searching for the right word. “Tremendously loyal,” he concluded. Jemma, beside him, nodded urgently.

“I made a cake,” Mary said, into the awkwardness. “Is now the right time to cut it?”

Everyone made overenthusiastic noises; I blew out the symbolic candle on top of the coffee and walnut sponge, then slid in the knife.

“It’s bad luck if we hear it touch the plate,” warned Di, just as the knife audibly clinked against the china.

“Fuck that,” said Joe, scowling at her as if she was a criminal. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “It’s only good luck from now on,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

“Do you think I’m mad?”

“Not mad. Sad.”

“And a bit of a party-pooper.”

“Meet Dan,” said Gwen, appearing beside me. “Dan, this is Ellie.”

He was big and shy, with a quiet, rumbling voice. I liked him at once for the way he looked at Gwen.

“Josh is about to light the rocket,” said Gwen, tucking her arm through mine. “Come out and see it, and then I’ll send everyone home. Right?”

“Right,” I agreed, for suddenly I felt desperately tired and dejected. And lonely, too—lonelier now, in this crowd of too-eager friends, than I ever did when I was alone.