Papers strewn about, Post-it notes and pens. It looked like she was preparing a report for work. She often brought work home, responsible for training across all the departments at the town hall. But he knew this current project was personal: the burial of their son. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ She turned, took a breath like someone coming round from a sleep. Dragged herself into the present. The here and now. ‘No, it’s okay. Just think,’ she said, ‘they’re out there today, opening their presents, stuffing their faces, swigging—’ She broke off. ‘Do they think they can get away with it!’ Her face was mobile with emotion, her eyes burning. ‘How can they sleep? How can they function? The families must know.’ He thought of the figures in the garden, the lad rearing up and away from Jason. He rubbed at his face. ‘They’ll find them,’ he said. He went and stood behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, kissed the top of her head. ‘You okay if I go for a walk?’ ‘Sure.’ She put her hand up to squeeze his.
