“I’ll have my coffee in the study.”

He always left the dining table before dessert was over on the twelfth of October.

For eight years he’d gone into his study at six forty to sit in the dark while the rest of us stayed behind with the empty chairs.

Jeremy dropped his fork onto the edge of his plate with a sharp clatter that made my mother flinch.

“Jeremy, sweetheart,” Ruth said gently, touching the chain of her glasses.