She flicked the lighter and sucked the flame into the end of the cigarette and then ejected a dense cloud of smoke. I was very tempted. The smell of it brought back late nights in a fog of drink and talk and laughter and intimacy. But I shook my head. Things were bad enough already. I had to make one gesture towards healthy living, however feeble. It took an effort. Laura was breathing the smoke deep into her lungs and when she exhaled she seemed to be savouring its taste on her tongue. I took a gulp of wine to take my mind off it.

'I'd hoped we could go for a walk,' I said.

Laura looked through the window with an expression of distaste.

'In this weather?'

'I wanted to breathe some cold air,' I said. 'Clear my head.'

'You can do that on your own,' Laura said. 'I'm not dressed for it.'

I had planned what I was going to say to Laura, so that it would seem coherent and sane, but it all came out wrong. I talked about Troy and Brendan and going to the police and it turned into a chaotic exercise in free association, hopping from one subject to another as ideas occurred to me. By the time I was finished, Laura was on her third cigarette.

'This isn't like you, Miranda,' she said.

I took a deep breath and tried not to get angry.

'I don't want you to make a judgement about my psychological state,' I said. 'Or at least, not yet. Just listen to what I'm saying. It adds up.'

'You know what I've always admired about you, Miranda? You've always been wonderful about putting things behind you. When I had snarl-ups in my life, you were the one I'd come to and you'd give me this amazingly sensible advice.'

'Now I'm. the one that's coming to you.'

'Listen to yourself,' Laura said. 'I'm so sorry about Troy. We all are. But listen to yourself. I know what it's like to break up with someone. I know what it's like to be dumped by someone. When Saul broke up with me, you remember what I was like. I couldn't get it out of my head. I kept going over and over it, wondering if he would still love me if I had done this thing or that thing differently. It makes me embarrassed to say it, but do you remember that I even came up with schemes to get him back. Do you remember?'

'Of course I do, darling.'

'You do because I poured it all out to you. And what did you say to me?'

'It's a completely different situation.'

'You told me to bite my tongue, not do anything I would regret and just let time pass and that you promised it would look different. I wanted to slap you yet you were absolutely right.'

'This isn't just a break-up and, as you know, I broke up with Brendan, but I don't want to get into that again…'

'For God's sake, Miranda. I've talked to Brendan. He's puzzled by all this, as much as I am.'

'What?' I said. 'Brendan? Have you been discussing me with Brendan?'

'Miranda

'You've gone over to him. That's it. I can tell. You think he's charming? A nice guy? How dare you? How dare you talk about me to him? What have you told him? Have you given away things I've said to you about him?'

'Miranda, stop this, this is me.'

I stopped and looked at her. She was beautiful and slightly evasive. She took a drag on her cigarette. She was avoiding my eyes.

'You like him, don't you?'

She gave a shrug.

'He's just an ordinary, nice guy,' she said. 'He's concerned about you.'

'That's it,' I said. I rummaged in my purse and, dimly feeling I'd done all this before, in a dream, found a ten-pound note and threw it down on the table. 'There. I'll be in touch. Sorry. I can't say anything more. I've got to go. I can't be doing with this.'

And I walked out on Laura. Out on the pavement I looked around, stunned by what I had done. What did I do now? The damp cold stung me. Good. I walked and walked without knowing where I was going.

CHAPTER 26

There were sixteen days to go until Christmas and four days until Kerry and Brendan were to be married in the register office half a mile from my parents' house. Overnight, the weather changed. It was still cold, but it became greyer, wetter, foggier. I woke in the morning to darkness outside my windows and the sound of rain, and for several minutes I couldn't make myself get out of my warm bed. The hot-water bottle I'd made myself last night was stony cold, so I pushed it on to the floor with my feet. I thought of having to scrape the ice from the van's windscreen, of hammering nails into floorboards in the empty and unheated house in Tottenham with bare, numb hands, and squirmed deeper under my duvet.

I heard the sound of mail being pushed through the letterbox and thumping on to the floorboards. In twelve days, it would be the shortest day of the year – and then they would start getting longer again. I tried to remind myself that there would be a spring, on the other side of these dark months.

There was grey showing at the edges of the curtains. I forced myself out of bed, sliding my feet into my slippers and putting on my dressing gown, and collected the letters. I made a large pot of coffee, put two slices of stale wholemeal bread into the toaster, turned on the radio for the company of someone else's voice. I spread honey on one slice and marmalade on the other, warmed up some milk in the microwave and poured myself a cup of coffee.

I sat at the table and opened my mail. There were nine Christmas cards, one of which was from someone I couldn't remember ever having met. He hoped we'd manage to meet up in the New Year; another was from Callum, the man I'd met at the party I'd gatecrashed with Laura and Tony. It seemed ages ago, another life. I had thought then that things had got as bad as they could and would now begin to get better. I didn't know then what bad meant. I pushed away Callum's card, with the scrawled invitation to a party. I didn't think I'd be getting round to writing Christmas cards myself this year, or going to parties. There were two appeals from charities, a credit card bill, a bank statement, three catalogues. And there was an envelope with Kerry's writing on it.

I finished my cup of coffee and poured another one. I ate a triangle of toast and honey slowly. Then I slid my finger under the gummed flap and lifted out the letter inside. 'Dear Miranda', I read. 'Brendan and I thought it might be a good idea if you would be one of our witnesses on Friday. Please let me know as soon as possible if this is all right with you. Kerry.' That was all.

I grimaced and a little corkscrew of pain wound itself round my right eye. That would be Brendan's doing. Getting me to stand beside the happy couple and sign my name by theirs. Pose for the camera. Smile at Brendan, my brother-in-law, part of my family. I felt nauseous and pushed away the toast. I managed a last sip of tepid coffee.

Perhaps I should just say no. No, I will not be your fucking witness. No, I will not play your game. No, no, no, never again. Perhaps I should simply stay away from the wedding altogether. They'd be better off without me there anyway. But of course I had to be there because not being there would just be read as yet another hysterical gesture on my part: mad, obsessed, lovesick, hate-filled Miranda; the ghost at the feast. I had to be there because I was Kerry's only sibling.

I sighed and stood up, tightening the belt of my dressing gown, crossed the room to the phone, dialled.

'Hello?'

'Mum. It's me.'

'Miranda.' The flat tone I'd become used to since Troy 's death.

'Hi. Sorry to ring so early. I really just wanted to speak to Kerry. About being a witness.'

'She said she was asking you.' There was a pause, then, 'I think it is a very generous gesture on her part.'

'Yes,' I said. 'Can I talk to her?'

'I'll go and call her. Before I do, though… We thought, Derek and I, that we should have a small gathering for them before Friday. There'll be no party on the day. It doesn't seem right. Anyway, they'll be leaving almost at once for their week away. This would be just family, really, to wish them well. We think it's important for them. Bill and Judy are definitely coming. Are you free tomorrow?'