And I have had to accept that there is no world in which anybody could have put those two facts together that night. The police had a name and a next of kin and two different hospitals and a road to close. Nobody was failing.
It is simply that the two halves of the worst night of my life were happening nine miles apart, and it took a six-year-old and a shelf to bring them into the same room.
What I have had to take.
Everybody wants the extraordinary bit — the photograph on the shelf, the child who knew.
Mine is a brown envelope.
Two years and two months. Eleven feet from where I sat.
And I could tell you that I did not open it because it was too painful, and that is what I told Pete in the January, and it is about sixty per cent true.
Here is the other forty, which took a woman called Halla until about the April to get out of me.
