Nana nods in agreement. ‘In some ways, they were all killed by what they loved the most: Frank was killed by his desire to be alone with his music. Nancy was killed by her precious plants. Rose was killed by something to do with her work, which she always put first. Lily was killed by the stench of entitlement she wallowed in. And Conor died eating his own words. Being a journalist is a privilege. The stories they tell should always be true.’
