The funeral was a blur. The aftertaste of destroyed happiness was a mixture of good whiskey and strangers’ tears. His parents spoke to him again. They poured all their love into him. They even got him a new jacket. It was nearly summer, but he appreciated it. Emma’s baby daddy was nowhere to be seen and her grave looked like a hole with a stone on it.

Peter could not understand the ceremony of grief. His intoxication led him further away from emotions. He knew, but it was easy to piss the bed than to contemplate the futility of life. Emma was brilliant and she was dead. That was all he needed to know. People kept giving him hugs and advice. He sat in his car while the sun was beating down on the cemetery. The grave diggers were finishing up. They were speaking among themselves, but they maintained their respect.

Peter stepped outside and noticed a dog sniffing gravestones. It stopped at one and began howling. The moment was too cliché to be real, so he walked over to the dog. It stopped howling and licked his shoes. Peter kneeled and checked the dog for a collar. He laughed at himself and remembered that he was in a coloured area. “Did you lose someone too?” the dog craned its neck and considered Peter. It wagged its tail for a few seconds then ran away. Peter sighed and headed back towards the car. He lit a cigarette and saw one of the gravediggers taking a piss adjacent to Emma’s final resting place.

He submitted the article well before the deadline, so he sat at his computer watching YouTube videos. It was at times like these that he needed friends. He wasted so many years of his life screwing people over and he did not have many options. He tried his parents. They were still at the hall. He paced up and down the flat and realised that he needed to see her. It was a waste of time dwelling on the messy details of the past. His sister was murdered. The least he could do was get closure. She was murdered. His brain lit up all at once. It could only be one person. He dialled Manny’s number.

“Hey, Manny …”

“What do you want?” she said sharply.

“Can you come to the flat?”

“Why?”

“My sister died and we need to talk.”

“Oh, I am so …”

“It’s urgent.”

Manny arrived twenty minutes later. She was wearing a form fitting dress. Her eyes were red. She nodded at him and sat on the couch. She looked around and saw how filthy the place was. She smiled and took a cigarette from Peter’s pack. She lit it and surveyed every corner of the flat. She even flushed the toilet for no reason. She returned to him and left him a few drags of the cigarette.

“Emma was murdered.” Peter said as he puffed. Manny spun around and fell onto the couch. She laughed and moved into the foetal position. “What’s so funny?” he said.

He tried keeping calm, but he knew she was high. She continued laughing. Peter boiled the kettle and got her a blanket. “What did you take?” he asked. She showed him a container of Vicoprofen. He shook it and sighed.

“I need you to sober up.” He said.

“Why?”

“I need you.”

“Of course! You have no one else!” she laughed.

He handed her the mug of coffee. She sipped it without argument. Peter went to the computer and found Neville’s number on the Narcotics Anonymous website.

“Neville? It’s Peter.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Could you come over?”

“Now?”

“Yes, it’s important.”

“I can’t. I have a meeting at seven. You’re welcome to attend.”

“I’ll be there.”

***

Tell us: Do you think Neville could have something to do with Emma’s death?