“Colleen loved her family, and she was a very giving woman. Very generous with her time …”

So generous, thought Heather, the misery inside her suddenly flaring into anger. Generous to a bloody fault, really.

With a start she saw all the heads in her pew turn to her, and she realized she had spoken out loud. Turning scarlet, she bowed her head, but it was like a dam had opened up; unwanted images and thoughts tumbled through her mind, pressing in on all sides. Sitting in this same chapel as a teenager, numb with pain and guilt; the look of fear that had passed over her dad’s face when he’d found the bird in her bedroom; her mother stepping over the edge of the cliff, perhaps regretting it at the last moment and feeling terrified on the long drop down, before her head was smashed and her bones turned to powder … She thought of Michael Reave and his infuriatingly steady voice, of all the women whose lives he had cut short.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet. The vicar’s words dried up in her throat, and they all looked at her expectantly. Someone just behind her coughed.

“Hev!” Nikki’s voice was an urgent whisper. “It’s all right, sit down. Please.”

It was impossible. Impossible to stay here a moment longer, just yards away from the box containing the broken pieces of her mother. She shook her head, and shuffled down the pew, gently brushing off the hands of Mrs. Appiah and her sister.

“Please, carry on,” she said, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. “Carry on, I just need some air.”

She left through the side door, stepping out into the small remembrance garden beyond. A long section of it was paved over, with small areas filled with white gravel and small succulent plants, and on a low wall someone had thoughtfully arranged all the floral tributes. She spotted her own immediately, a wreath of white and yellow lilies, and she made herself go and look at it, staring at the long smooth petals until her heart had stopped pounding in her chest.

For all I know, she might have hated this. Heather took a long, slow breath. Perhaps she would have hated all these flowers. Christ, maybe I should have brought rose hips.

She waited, and eventually she heard the thin and wavering sound of a small group of people singing “Morning Has Broken,” the hymn she had chosen to end the service. Shortly afterward, the crematorium doors opened and the vicar began ushering people out.

“Hev, are you all right?” Nikki came straight over to her, while her mother and auntie hovered anxiously behind. The small handful of mourners were moving out into the garden, pausing to thank the vicar as they did, but Heather couldn’t help noticing that they were all taking little peeks at her.

“Sorry,” she lifted her eyes to Mrs. Appiah and her sister so the apology took them in, too. “I just couldn’t face it. I kept remembering dad’s funeral, and the shock of everything …”