Kevin was the one who came through the door, with Brian a pace behind him.

His eyes were red.

He stopped dead when he took in the photographs laid out over my blanket.

He was still in the shirt he had put on at half past five that morning, the pale blue one, and it was out at the waist on one side.

He had the hospital bag in his right hand.

I had not expected that and it went through me like something physical.

He had carried that bag out of this room, across a car park, into his car, across town, into Brian’s house, and back again, for four and a half hours, because it had my things in it and because he is a man who does not leave a bag.