I considered myself to be an optimistic person, someone who looks for the silver lining in every circumstance. I’d even carved a happy existence in a crematorium where I’d found myself surrounded by new grief on an hourly basis. But all of a sudden I felt something in me crumble. Over the last few days I’d been through a torrent of emotional and physical upheaval: the breakdown of Evie and Darren’s marriage, my own escape from Harvey, waving Dad off on his solo adventure, enduring a frightening encounter with my crazy ex and today accepting that my presence in my sister’s home threatened everything she held dear. And now, faced with these three kind people and Betsy’s cold shoulder, I saw my one last glimmer of hope flicker and die.

‘You’re right,’ I said, getting to my feet, a veil of tears rendering my sight as hazy as I imagined Betsy’s to be. ‘You don’t need me in your lives.’

‘Whoa, hold on,’ said Marjorie, her face a picture of concern. ‘Betsy didn’t mean that.’

‘Actually, she’s right,’ I said breathlessly. ‘I’m a walking disaster zone. I’ve run away from an abusive man, and goodness knows when he might turn up again. I’ve had to walk away from a perfectly good promotion. Even though gardening in a crematorium might not suit everyone, I enjoyed talking to people and comforting them and chatting and singing to their relatives, or their memorials at least. I can’t live with my sister Evie because she wants to start fostering and having me around – or rather the threat of a return visit from my ex – gets in her way. And my dad has sold his business and rented out the family home. So yes, Betsy is right: I am a desperado.’

They were all staring at me now. I even had Betsy’s attention.

‘Roger, Godfrey, it was lovely to meet you. Goodbye, ladies.’ I swiped a stray tear on my cheek and trying to retain the tiniest shred of my remaining dignity I strode out of the doors.

My trembling hands were making it hard to get the car key in the lock and I was still fumbling when above the thunderous sound of my heart, I heard a voice.

‘Wait.’

It was Betsy.

I stood in silence and waited, my throat so choked that I couldn’t have spoken if I’d tried. I was expecting an apology and I was ready to wave it away. It wasn’t her fault; I’d been foisted on her as a fait accompli. And not only that, she’d obviously been recently widowed, she was bound to be feeling a bit out of sorts. The apology didn’t come.