Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, Josette thought about the future. She was free to do, to say, as she wanted. With Amelia’s death the need to keep her own secret had died. Hadn’t it? She was the last of the family who knew the truth. If she wanted, she could shout it out to the world. There was no one to gainsay her now. But was it worth upsetting another generation of people with the truth?

*

The Monday after the funeral, Carla collected the ashes from the crematorium before driving to her late mother’s home to begin the task of sorting and clearing the house.

During the three months Amelia had spent in the care home, Carla had gone to the empty house once a week to keep an eye on the place and to water the house plants. David, her husband, had encouraged her to use the time to make a start on clearing and emptying the house.

‘We all know Amelia won’t ever go back there, so it makes sense to begin getting it ready for sale.’

Carla had shaken her head. ‘It might make sense, but, sorry, I can’t do it.’ She’d tried to explain to David that, as illogical as it was, she felt she’d be invading her mother’s privacy, even though she’d have no idea what Carla was doing. It would be easier when Amelia had passed. But, in truth, it was never going to be easy.

Inserting the key into the lock of No. 29 and letting herself in, she fancied that the house was even quieter than it had been over the last few weeks. As if the house knew Amelia was dead and had shut down on itself. Carla shook the thought away.

Placing the urn on the sitting room mantelpiece, Carla went into the kitchen to make herself a coffee. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she opened the back door and went out onto the small patio her father had created years ago. Looking out over the garden, she sighed. Never a keen gardener, Amelia had abandoned the garden the year Robert had died. Since then it had been left to Carla, or David when she could persuade him, to push the old-fashioned cylinder mower around the large patch of grass every couple of weeks in summer. The flower borders over the last ten years had simply merged into a weed-infested green border around the outside. Carla could see she’d need to get the mower out again soon.

A memory flitted through her mind of the garden when it was her dad’s solace from work – and her mother. The Christmas he’d strung fairy lights around the bare branches of the gnarled apple tree in the far corner. Amelia had declared it an unnecessary extravagance and as soon as Christmas Day was over she’d demanded the lights were taken down. They were never seen again.