Page 6 of A Murder is Going Down

‘Heidi,’ she says, awkwardly backing up her wheelchair, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.’ She looks up at Patrick. ‘Patrick, this is Felix’ssister, Heidi. You literally just saw her read a poem at the serviceandyou’ve met her before.’ Then she turns to me. ‘It was a lovely reading. I didn’t know Felix liked Auden.’

I hesitate, unsure whether to be honest. Then I see her smile, one of those small, sad ones you’re allowed to do at funerals. ‘Neither did I,’ I say tentatively, and Patrick laughs and takes the seat next to me.

‘I was joking,’ he says. ‘Although the last time we saw each other, I’m pretty sure you were eight.’

‘I was twelve.’One year younger than you,I don’t add, because this is a funeral and I’m trying to be nice. At Felix and Eliza’s wedding, where we’d been the only kids, we’d hidden under a table, scoffing profiteroles off the giant croquembouche, and reading Percy Jackson on my Kindle.

‘I see your dessert-stealing skills have only grown, my young apprentice,’ he says, looking pointedly at the biscuits on my lap. ‘I still dream of those profiteroles.’ And he grins the kind of smile that probably lets him get away with murder. (I saidprobably, let’s not get carried away.)

‘Are you over from Melbourne?’ I ask.

‘I flew in for the funeral,’ Patrick says. ‘Michael’s in a show, so he’s coming in a couple of days.’

Patrick, Elena and Michael – their oldest brother – lost their mum to cancer less than a year before Elena and Felix met. Their dad left when they were really young, so they’ve been on their own since. Given how little else Felix and Elena had in common, I always assumed the whole No Parents thing was part of their bond.

‘Sam said you just came back from Europe?’ Elena asks me.

‘I got in yesterday.’

‘Where were you in Europe?’ Patrick asks.

‘This tiny village in Switzerland you’ve never heard of.’

‘Rude.’

‘Trust me: you couldn’t find it on a map. Those cartographers are doing you a favour.’

Patrick wrinkles his nose. ‘Why were you inhere be dragonsterritory?’

‘I was … wait, here be dragons?’

‘It’s what they used to write on the bits of maps that hadn’t been explored yet,’ Patrick says.

And I’d thought he might ask me what ‘cartographers’ meant.

‘Exchange program.’ I can’t bear to go into the backstory.

‘You’ve turned into one of those well-rounded teenagers,’he says. ‘If you tell me you speak FrenchandGerman, I’m going to throw myself in the coffin after Felix.’

‘Patrick,’ Elena says.

‘I’m fluent in Chinese, too,’ I lie.

‘Bullshit,’ Patrick says, but he’s grinning.

‘Patrick,’ Elena says, ‘shut up. You’re being so rude. Heidi, I’m sorry about him, he’s horrendous when he’s jet-lagged.’

‘Only then?’ I say, but I’m grinning back. It’s coming back to me why I might have wanted to spend three hours under a table with this guy. If we’d been old enough for social media at the time, maybe we would have kept in touch.

‘I should know by now he’s not safe in public spaces,’ Elena says.

‘Have you tried a muzzle?’

Elena and Patrick both laugh, and I almost wish that Lilia and Ben had turned up after all, to see me killing with my comedy routine. (Are you allowed to do comedy at a funeral?)

‘You could go back to my hotel room for a nap,’ Elena says to Patrick, sounding hopeful.

‘Iamknackered.’