When they pulled up to the church, George was surprised to see how many people were waiting to pay their final respects. As he’d expected, there was no sign of Roger. He was disgusted that the man wasn’t there to support Sarah.

As George led Sarah towards the chapel, Mo and Samuel stepped forward, but Sarah hardly seemed to notice that they were there. She wasn’t crying, but she looked so lost, so bereft, her face as white as a sheet.

‘How’s she been?’ Mo whispered.

‘Not good,’ George answered.

‘It’s a lovely turnout, Sarah,’ Mo said. ‘Lots of mums from Tommy’s school are here, and so is his teacher. I’ve met your friend Jenny too, she’s really nice.’

Sarah didn’t respond. She was locked in a world of grief, and moved stiffly. The vicar stood by the entrance to the church, and took Sarah’s hand, but she remained silent.

George led her inside to a front pew, and after a few minutes the organ began to play. George glanced behind to see that everyone was seated, and then the vicar walked down the aisle in front of the bearers carrying Tommy’s tiny coffin. It was placed on a plinth, while Sarah stared ahead, and he wondered how much longer she could hold it together.

The service began; they sang hymns, said prayers and Lena did well with the reading. George could tell she was nervous, but the things she said about Tommy were very moving, and he could hear quiet snuffles echoing through the church. Still, Sarah remained silent. She had opted to have Tommy cremated, saying that she couldn’t stand the thought of him being buried underground, all alone in the dark.

To the sound of the final hymn, a curtain was drawn across the plinth, hiding the coffin, and George felt a surge of sorrow. He swallowed the lump in his throat, fighting tears, and in his head said a final goodbye to the bright, bonny boy he had become so fond of. He reached for Sarah’s hand and found it cold. She still sat stiffly beside him.

The service over, people filed out and George gently urged Sarah to her feet. Outside, condolences were offered, and then he led Sarah to where the flowers and wreaths had been placed. She barely looked at them, but George saw his mother collecting the cards. In time, maybe Sarah would want to read them, he thought. For now, she was tapping her finger and thumb together, something he’d noticed she did whenever she was upset or worried.

‘I am so sorry, love,’ a young woman said.

At last Sarah spoke, but only to say curtly, ‘Thanks, Jenny.’