“His arms lay on the ground, close to his sides, palms facing upward. It was clear that, from the moment he landed on the floor, Elvis hadn’t moved. I rushed over, bent down beside him and said, ‘Elvis?’
“A horrible fear shot through me. His pyjama top had slid forward a little. I touched his lower back. His skin felt cool.
“I gently turned his face toward me. A hint of air expelled from his nose. The tip of his tongue was clenched between his teeth and his face was blotchy.
“I gently raised one eyelid. His eye was staring straight ahead and blood-red. Frantic now, I reached for the phone by the toilet and called downstairs.”