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of them added up to something strong.
    Laura had done her best to dress each of them for the service. She had aired Bruce’s wedding suit, barely worn, and scrounged two good-enough dresses. Her own dress was navy. It pinched beneath her arms. On the back of Vik’s skirt was a burn where the iron had sat too long. But how was a family meant to look, after one of them had died? Laura wished there was a picture she could copy, some instructions for how to behave. Her relief that the ordeal was ending encased her like skin. Inside it, she was giddy.
    It seemed the whole of Kyree turned up for the service, come to gawk. The church hall hummed with conversation. Listening, Laura found she could make out individual voices against the low rumble of the crowd, the eyes of the town at her back like heat. She lowered her head, searching for a way to hold her body that broadcast sorrow, trying on Bruce’s rubbery slouch, then Vik’s taut anxiety.
    When the organ wheezed into life, she was glad. Deep vibrations filled the space. Beneath the music, the room fell still. When the crowd stood, Laura stood with them, dragging her family up. All through the service, Bruce kept wiping his eyes on his shirt cuff, turning the fabric translucent. Vik rocked herself in the pew, clenching a fistful of Laura’s skirt. Laura couldn’t look at either one, at the way they watched the priest, praying over nothing. She recalled how Kath’s note had burned. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Amen. It couldn’t be undone.

    Laura’s eleventh birthday came and went unobserved. She let it slide without comment, fingers like prunes in dishwater. She understood now that Kath’s memorial had been more for her and Vik, for the town, than to provide Bruce with an ending. If anything, the service gave him a cover: the opportunity to continue searching without anyone keeping watch.
    The apple trees were blossoming, though the early mornings remained dim. The year was almost done. Laura’s teacher phoned Bruce. He listened quietly, letting the wall hold him up, then told Laura wearily it was time to return to school, to finish out the year. There was no point arguing, she knew well enough; that wasn’t the way Bruce did things. As she helped Vik into the bath after dinner, she explained what was happening as best she could. Listening, Vik jerked so violently that she smacked her head on the tiles. Howls ricocheted through steam. Laura wanted to cover her ears, but she leaned into the tub, taking Vik’s slick body in her arms.
    â€˜I want to come too,’ Vik wailed, gripping Laura’s shoulders. Her eyes were wide with panic.
    Laura smoothed Vik’s damp hair, taking up the washcloth. When she spoke, her voice sounded adult, calm. ‘You’ll start Prep soon, in the new year.’
    Vik shut down, defeated. She closed her eyes, mutely allowing her face to be scrubbed. Laura understood. For months they had stood together watching Bruce set out in the morning, just to see him drag himself back in the dark, exhausted and hardly registering what they said.
    Even with Kath around, Vik had been left to amuse herself while Laura was at school. Bruce headed off on the early bus and came home late in blood-soaked clothes. But Kath had always allowed Vik into the studio if she brought a picture book to look at and stayed quiet. That minimal contact was worth something, Laura guessed. Worth everything. She had sometimes found her mother and sister together of an afternoon, bent to their separate tasks. Peering around the door with her schoolbag in hand, cautiously calling hello, Laura had always hoped Kath might invite her in as well, instead of shooing them both out into the grey sunlight, complaining of noise.
    Sponging Vik’s familiar skin, Laura tried not to show fear – her sister was sensitive as a foal – but she worried about how it would be for Vik when she wasn’t there to help fill the