One week later...

He'd thought the casket would be bigger.

Ben swirled his whisky, staring down at the caramel-coloured liquid. The funeral had been held in a cemetery filled with chlorophyll-stained tombstones and the sort of stone statues that James would have hated. His older brother had a fear of them after watching a Doctor Who episode; he hadn't been able to sleep for weeks after.

Ben paused.

Swallowed more whisky.

They were at a restaurant at the edge of the graveyard now, a conservatory-style dome filled with orange trees and little white picnic tables. The overcast sky was itchy as a grey jumper. Black-clothed mourners mingled, exchanging hushed words. Hugh was building a Lego pirate ship on the floor, his small back curved like a question mark.

Ben rose.

He touched his nephew's shoulder. "How are you holding up, little man?"

Hugh looked up. Went back to his pirate ship.

Ben crouched down. "Is it okay if we go home soon?"

Hugh shrugged.

"Do you want any cake?" Ben tried.

Hugh thought about it. Shook his head.

Ben looked around the room desperately. Where the hell was Louise? She was better with kids. He searched the room for a flash of dark hair. A short, petite build. People had always mixed-up Millie and Louise, saying that the Bentley sisters looked alike, but Ben had never seen it; his sister-in-law had been beautiful and delicate, the slender stem of a flower.

And Louise was...

Well.

She was Louise Bentley.

Larger than life. A blazing supernova. A pain in the arse, most of the time, although Ben was begrudgingly grateful for her today; she had spent the last few hours flitting from table-to-table, shaking hands, and accepting flowers and murmuring "thank-you" to people that expressed condolences. She was good at this.

Then again, Ben thought, she hosted events for a living. Unlike him, Louise liked people, so he wasn't sure why he was surprised.

"Ben?" a voice called.

He turned.

Andrew Hazelton-Scott was approaching, his blond hair rumpled and dark shadows under his eyes. A black tie hung loosely around his neck, although Ben knew that it was intentional; Andrew had gone to Eton. He knew exactly how to tie a Windsor knot.

Ben inclined his head. "Your tie's undone."

Andrew touched the knot. "I know. It's to—"

"Honour James," Ben cut in. "I guessed as much."

Andrew's mouth curved. "James always did hate wearing a suit. Said it made him feel like the son of the corporate devil. If it was up to him, I suspect we'd all be wearing party hats right now." His smile faded. "I'm sorry, mate."

"Thank-you." Ben looked away, watching as Hugh carefully pressed two blocks together. "Did you call him? For his birthday?"

He already knew the answer; Andrew and James had been the sort of friends that went to the pub every Friday and spent all weekend texting about the cricket score — of course Andrew had rung him for his birthday. Still, Ben felt a painful stab of envy when Andrew nodded.

"Rung him in the morning," Andrew said. "He complained about the football and then said that he was excited for a burrito. Why?"

"I never got the chance to," Ben said. "I'd meant to ring him, but I got caught up at work." He rubbed at his jaw. "I was leaving him a voicemail on the way out of the office when the police officer phoned me."

Andrew blew out a breath. "Shit."

"Yeah." A lump rose in his throat. "I'm happy he got his burrito, at least."

They lapsed into silence. Andrew's eyes strayed — as they often did, Ben had noted — to his girlfriend Ophelia; she was sitting on a bench, letting Vienna mash cake into her auburn hair. Louise's older brother Max sat next to her, staring blankly at the wall; his white shirt was rolled up to his sleeves, revealing swirling black tattoos.

"What's happening with them?" Andrew asked quietly.

His eyes were on Vienna, now. Ben glanced at Hugh — still building Lego a few feet away — and lowered his voice.

"I don't know," Ben murmured. "I assume they're going to family on the Bentley side. It's not like I've got any left."

He stated it plainly, as a fact, but Andrew looked at him sharply.

"You've got me," he said. "And Fi."

"I know." Ben shifted his weight. "Thank-you."

"Don't thank me," Andrew said. "It's not a favour. And you'd do the same for me."

Two other women joined the table. The blonde one — Ella, Ben identified; everyone knew who Ella Walker was, now that she dominated the pop charts — scooped up Vienna, dabbing at the cake on Ophelia's face with a napkin. The other raven-haired girl murmured something to Max, and he looked up to smile tiredly at her.

Andrew shook his head. "Those girls are mad about each other, aren't they? Makes me envious sometimes."

"Yeah." Ben glanced around. "Where's Bentley?"

Andrew shrugged. "She went outside, I think."

"When?"

"I don't know." He gave Ben a curious look. "Why?"

Ben inclined his head at Hugh, who was staring at a piece of Lego, his eyes glazing over. "Figure we should get the kids home soon. They've been staying with Louise and her brother at the house. I don't have keys."

The last part came out more sheepishly than he'd intended. Not, Ben reflected, that he had any reason to be embarrassed; it wasn't as if he'd asked Louise and Max to watch the kids for the week — they'd volunteered. Louise had been able to take a few weeks off event planning, and Max had a break from his tour schedule with his band The Patriots.

Ben, on the other hand, was still working.

Not by choice.

But that was a whole other story.

Andrew poured a glass of water. "Go find Lou. I'll keep an eye on Hugh."

Ben hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

A swell of emotion filled him. Relief? Gratitude? It was impossible to say; all of Ben's emotions seemed to be tangled up these days, like cords shoved away in the bottom of a drawer. He set down his whisky.

"Thanks," he said.

Ben shrugged on his coat, making for the exit. A light drizzle had begun, filling the green lawn with mist; a lonely white pagoda stood in the distance, like a sentry standing guard over the graveyard. He flipped the collar of his coat up, wincing at the chilly September air.

And then he heard it.

Crying.

Louise was leaning against the railing, wiping at her eyes. Wind had whipped colour into her cheeks, and her dark hair was damp and frizzing. Her nylons had a run up the side, but she hadn't seemed to notice. Just as she hadn't noticed him.

For a moment, Ben was frozen. Did he call out? Offer her a tissue? She wouldn't want him to see her like this; of that, he was certain. He turned for the door, resolved to go inside, when Louise turned around and let out a little scream.

"Christ, Langford!" Her hand flew to her throat. "You scared me."

Ben took a step forward. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Louise paused, and then gave a humourless laugh. "Well, no, I'm not actually. As you can see. Are you?"

Her green eyes were bright, the colour of fresh spring buds. Ben came to stand beside her, resting his arms on the railing.

"No," he said. "Not really."

Louise nodded. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she could physically hold herself together. Something like pity went through him. She looked fragile, Ben realized; more fragile than he'd ever seen her, anyway. Not like glass — he didn't think Louise would ever look that breakable, to him — but more like marble.

A strange impulse to hug her filled him.

As soon as Ben felt it — processed the horror of even thinking it — the urge passed. After all, Ben thought, this was Louise Bentley. Trying to hug her was like wrapping your arms around a feral cat; it was cute, certainly, but it was also liable to claw your eyes out.

Silence fell, broken only by the jangle of windchimes and the patter of rain.

"I took a cab," Louise said finally. "To get here, I mean."

Her eyes were fixed on the pagoda. Understanding dawned.

"Ah," Ben said. "It was your first time in a car since...?"

Louise nodded. "I biked everywhere this week. Or took the tube. I tried to get in an Uber once, to go to an event, but I couldn't bring myself to..." Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "Forget it. It's stupid."

She scratched her cheek. Blood smeared across her cheek, and alarm went through him.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Ben demanded.

"What?" Louise followed his gaze. "Oh. It's just a papercut."

"Let me see," Ben said.

Louise studied him. For a moment, Ben thought she might say no, but she shrugged and gave him her hand; it was surprisingly soft. The world smelled of rainwater and blood. Ben produced a tissue from his pocket, pressing it to her finger.

"It's clean," Ben said. "I promise."

Louise looked down at the red blooming on the tissue. "You don't have to be nice to me. I know you don't like me."

"Well," Ben said, "you don't like me either, to be fair."

She'd made that clear enough at James and Millie's wedding. Louise's words had haunted him more than he cared to admit, hovering at the edges of his mind when Ben was on the tube or ironing a shirt. I hate him, she'd said. I wouldn't date Ben Langford if he were the last man alive on earth. Or in the galaxy.

It didn't bother Ben, exactly — Lord only knew that he and Louise weren't compatible — but there was something unsettling about it. Something that didn't quite sit right.

Louise wrapped the tissue twice around her finger. "It's strange, isn't it? We can't stand each other, but you're the only other person in the world that can possibly understand what I'm going through."

Her voice was soft, so quiet that it was almost drowned out by the drain. Ben had a swift, silent debate with himself.

He took the plunge. "It's Mexican food, for me."

"What?"

"I can't eat Mexican food." Ben's heart was beating fast. "It was James's favourite food. The police officer told me that there was a carton of it on the dashboard, that maybe James had been distracted and reached for it and that's why..." He swallowed. "Why he didn't see the drunk driver coming."

Louise nodded. Seemed to process it.

She wound the tissue. Unwound it again. "I don't know what I'm going to do without her. Millie did everything for me. Taxes, stock investments, nagging me to go to the dentist..." Louise dropped her hand, looking up at him. "Did you know she used to drop off a homemade soup every week? Just because I work late, and she wanted me to have something healthy to eat when I got in."

Ben swallowed.

He wanted to tell Louise that he was sorry. Wanted to say that he understood, that after his Dad left, he'd had to learn to change a tyre and a lightbulb, to check the gas meter and light a barbecue. It was only when you lost someone that you had to find yourself.

But Ben didn't say that.

Instead, Ben stuck his hands into his coat pockets. "You'll figure it out."

Louise stared down at the bloodied rag. "So everyone keeps saying."

"The estate agent rung me today." Ben rocked back on his heels. "He wants to meet with us tomorrow."

Louise looked up. "Did he say why?"

"I assume to discuss their assets." Ben kept his voice light. "Clothes, books, the house. That sort of thing."

She nibbled her lip. "Should I tell Max?"

Ben shook his head. "He just wants to speak with us."

"Why?"

"Search me." Ben glanced at the door. "We should get Hugh and Vienna home soon. They're exhausted." She looked exhausted, too.

Louise turned for the door. "I can do it."

Her heels clicked on the wooden slats. Ben felt a sudden rush of something — some odd sense of loss — and he took a step towards her.

"Bentley?" he called.

She paused.

Frustration bubbled up in Ben, mostly self-directed. What the hell was he doing? Some strange part of him wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell Louise that he was sorry for being so cold to her today, that he didn't know how else to be. That he was scared. That he was sad.

The words lodged in his throat.

Ben cleared his throat. "The appointment with the estate agent is at ten o'clock. I'll text you the address, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

Louise slipped through the door, leaving Ben standing in the rain.