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“Thanks. You’re the best.” She tried to smile, then shut her eyes again. “I don’t think I can move from this sofa. I’ve never been more tired in all my life.”

“Come on,” I said, extending a hand to her. “Take your tea to bed.”

“It’s only going to get worse,” she said ominously as she obeyed.

Chapter Eleven

“Well, I did tell you,” she said forty-eight hours later.

“I know,” I sighed.

“It’s awful letting them down like that. But there isn’t an alternative right now.”

I nodded mutely. We had just sent our choir members a group text, announcing that the next day’s choir practice was cancelled. The last forty-eight hours had completely floored Petra – and by extension me – as she got to grips with her new role. She’d just spent a sixteen-hour day at work, putting everything in place, and couldn’t see it calming down until the end of the week, at which point exam week would begin. It simply wasn’t possible for her to get away tomorrow night, and since it also wasn’t possible for me to run the choir on my own, we had made the difficult decision to cancel tomorrow’s session. Text sent, I pocketed my phone and we shared a miserable look.

“I mean, it’s only the second time since we took it over,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “Twice in six years isn’t bad going. And the first time was because we both had the virus last year. They know what’s happened; they won’t blame us.”

Sure enough, a string of supportive texts began pinging through on both of our phones. It surprised me that so many of our members were still awake at eleven o’clock on a Monday night, but here they were. As I read them, a private message came through from Cassandra Mulligan, who had briefly been a teaching assistant at the school a few years ago, and who (alongside her girlfriend Felicia) was now part of the alto section of the choir.

“Cassandra Mulligan says that if she can help you in any way, you only need to ask,” I told Petra. “Although she recognises the delicacy of the situation.”

“Bless her,” Petra murmured, as if Cass were a child rather than less than a decade younger than her. “She always was a sweetheart.”

“Time for bed now?” I said, taking in her exhausted slump.

“I don’t know whether I can sleep,” she said. “Last night was horrendous. Took me ages to get to sleep, then I kept waking up, and as soon as you got up at five, that was it.”

“We didn’t get to bed until midnight – a sixteen-hour day on five hours of sleep? At least I got to take a nap after work – you must be shattered.”

“Oh, thank you for noticing,” she said sarcastically. “Well done, Sherlock. Yes, I’m fucking exhausted, and being made to feel bad about cancelling tomorrow isn’t fucking helping!”

I blinked. That was a sudden turnaround.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who’s making you feel bad?”

“You!” She stabbed a finger in my direction.

“Me? How?”

“That martyred expression on your face just now. When you were sending the text, and right afterwards. It’s not helping, Jean!”

“Okay, I get it.” I stood up and went into the kitchen to put some distance between us. “You’re tired. You’re exhausted, and you’re lashing out at me. Let’s go to bed. This time next week, everything will have settled and you’ll be feeling more like yourself again.”

“You’re right,” she said, with a truly miserable expression. I stepped back into the living room and leaned on the doorframe. “I’m sorry.” She massaged her temples, then waved away the hand I extended towards her. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’ll get in the shower. I just need… sleep.”

Balls, I thought to myself. If we’re like this after two days… what is two months going to do?

Chapter Twelve

It was with the vibe of a harried businesswoman that Petra collapsed through the door that Friday evening.

“Good evening,” I said, meeting her halfway in the living room.

“Don’t start,” she snapped, dumping her bag on the sofa and pushing past me into the kitchen.

“Start what?” I said, bemused. “All I said was good evening. And it is evening.”

“I know it’s late, okay?” she snarled. “I know it’s nearly nine o’clock. I know you’ve been waiting to do the dinner. I just couldn’t get away. And I don’t need you being sarcastic about it.”