"Peter?" Chris asks, knowing that it's an empty question. He looks at the joint in his hand for a long moment, at the thin wisp of smoke rising into the air.

"Nicest bloke you could ever meet, really. Everyone loved him. Two of you probably would have gotten along, actually."

Peter'd gotten along with most everyone, come to think of it. Sometimes, Chris wondered whether or not the wrong brother had gone first. Only sometimes, though, mostly because in the end, all that hadn't mattered too much.