She stared at the back of Mrs Baxter’s head. They had this in common, left behind by the men they loved, the men they thought loved them. Left behind to find out all the nasty secrets, to float rudderless on a sea of grief, lies and bullshit. Dorothy swallowed and took a deep breath, looked at the leaves shimmering in the breeze outside.

There was a disturbance outside the chapel door, voices raised. The minister hesitated, looked up from his notes. Mrs Baxter turned to her son, who shrugged then gave Dorothy a hard stare. Dorothy moved towards the door. Her hand was almost on the handle when the door flew open and clattered against the wall, denting the plaster.

‘How fucking dare you.’

Rebecca Lawrence was hard-faced and fuming, shaking off an apologetic Indy as she gripped the door handle with red knuckles.144

‘I’m so sorry,’ Indy said.

‘It’s OK,’ Dorothy said. She turned to Rebecca, nodding behind her at the Baxter funeral service. ‘Maybe we could go somewhere private.’

Rebecca let go of the door handle and came into the room, pushing past Dorothy.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I want everyone to know what a nasty piece of work you are.’

‘This isn’t appropriate,’ Dorothy said.

The Baxters and friends were staring, William’s widow confused, the sons with faces like thunder.

‘I’ll tell you what’s not appropriate,’ Rebecca said. ‘Coming to my house and raking over my husband’s death. I grieved for that bastard twice, when he went missing and when I had to declare him dead. And now you come round making accusations, suggesting I’m screwing you out of money.’

‘I never said that.’

‘You said I wasn’t due anything from my husband’s life assurance.’

‘There was no life assurance,’ Dorothy said.

She reached out and tried to touch Rebecca on the elbow but the other woman shook her off.

‘And now my bank tells me you’ve cancelled the payments.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m a single parent with a ten-year-old daughter, what am I supposed to do?’

‘Please leave.’

The voice from the doorway made Dorothy turn. Jenny was in her funeral outfit, her fists balled, strands of hair falling from her ponytail.

Rebecca turned, wide-eyed. ‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me,’ Jenny said, stepping into the room.

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m Jenny Skelf, I help run this business. And we don’t owe you anything, not a penny.’145

Rebecca was shaking, her head angled to the side. ‘It was your father who made me sign the paperwork, who set up the payments.’

‘Do you have any of that paperwork?’

Rebecca smiled and reached into her handbag, pulled out some crumpled pages. ‘Too right I do.’

Dorothy took a step towards her. ‘Can I see that?’