Jenny watched as Dorothy tipped the casket and began emptying the rest of Jim onto the grass, making sure he was evenly scattered so there were no visible mounds of ash. Way below the grassy surface were the hundreds of plague victims buried centuries ago, when Bruntsfield was outside the city walls, considered safe. Jenny imagined her dad’s ashes sinking through the layers of dirt, soil and loam, mingling with the ancient dead, then further still, the remains of dinosaurs or other ancient beasts, early life drowning in mud or dying from cold, all the ways it was possible to die. It was hard to stay alive sometimes.

Dorothy had finished, the casket upside down in her hands, the wind flapping at the bottom of her dress, people walking past on the paths, some curious, some oblivious. She turned to Hannah and Jenny.

It’s hard to stay alive, but sometimes it’s the only choice we have. 333

Schrödinger sat in the window seat and lifted his head to watch the three women come through the door. He licked at a paw and settled back down. He’d been tentative for a few days after his injuries, but he brought Jenny a mangled sparrow while she lay in bed yesterday morning, so he was back to normal.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Dorothy said, and started making tea.

Jenny touched Hannah’s arm as she looked out of the window at where they’d just been. Hannah lowered her head then turned to the whiteboards. Jenny thought about fathers and daughters.

There were three funerals on the slate. Archie had gone to prep Olivia Barlow for viewing, Indy was at reception taking calls, everything was back to normal.

Dorothy poured tea and the women sat in silence. Jenny ignored the bloodstained rug on the floor. She touched the bandage around her waist, pressed until she felt discomfort then pressed some more.

‘Are you OK?’ Hannah said, seeing her hand on her stomach.

‘Fine.’

‘I don’t know how to handle this,’ Hannah said.

Dorothy took her hand. ‘We have each other, don’t underestimate that.’

Hannah shook her head and Jenny wanted to hug her, squeeze until she made the big bad world disappear.

She heard the front door open downstairs then someone talking with Indy at the desk. She sipped her tea as the sun appeared between clouds and bathed Schrödinger in warmth. The steam rose from her mug and evaporated, becoming one with the universe.

Footsteps upstairs, then Indy appeared in the doorway.

‘There’s a woman downstairs looking for a private investigator,’ Indy said. ‘Says she’s being harassed by her neighbour.’334

‘Why doesn’t she go to the police?’ Dorothy said.

‘Her neighbour is a cop.’

Hannah raised her head and looked at Indy.

‘Well?’ Indy said. ‘What will I tell her?’

Jenny shared a look with the other women. She spoke to Indy.