It is still yellow.

The cribs he did on a Sunday with the instructions spread out on the carpet in the correct order, weighted at the corners with mugs, and the little bags of fixings opened one at a time and tipped into a cereal bowl so that nothing could roll under the skirting.

That was Kevin.

That is who he is, and it matters to what happened later, because a man who builds a crib like that does not go missing from a hospital room.

It is not in his character.