It had taken her a while. Granted my hair was long and loose enough to act as camouflage but Claire had an instinct for fancy things. At first glance they were just triangles of orange Perspex. What made them special was that each sported a not insignificant diamond.

‘Give me a look.’ Claire was tucking my hair behind my ears and coming in for a close-up. ‘Christ,’ she breathed. ‘Quin?’

Of course, Quin.

Helen and Margaret were also on top of me, trying to see.

I twisted my face from side to side so they all got a look, then I was told to take the earrings off, so they could be examined at closer quarters.

‘Are the diamonds…real?’ Helen’s tone was sceptical.

‘But why would you put a diamond in a cheap piece of orange plastic?’ Margaret sounded confused enough to cry. ‘I don’t get Quin’s taste at all.’

There were times I agreed with her. Quin amused me. He didn’t really care that gifts were supposed to be what the person on the receiving end liked. If something appealed to him—and his taste was nuanced and niche, not for everyone—that was usually enough for him to reach for his credit card.

‘They’re horrible,’ Mum said.

‘They’re so not.’ Claire was adamant. ‘Quin is really cool. What’s the name of the jeweller? Text me when you know, so I can find out the price.’

‘Oh, do!’ the other three exclaimed.

Sometimes Quin got it so right—a fifties bracelet in chunky, blue Lucite was one of my favourite things. These orange Perspex earrings, though? Diamonds or no diamonds, I’d never have picked them. But because I cared about him, I wore them.

‘So this is what you do,’ Claire said. ‘Go with Quin. Waltz into the church with him.’

‘It’s a funeral,’ Mum snapped. ‘No one’s waltzing anywhere. Don’t go with Quin.’

‘Don’t,’ Margaret agreed. ‘It would be inappropriate.’

‘Luke left her!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘She can do what she likes!’

‘Anyway, Quin’s in New Mexico,’ I said. ‘He’s not back till Sunday.’

‘Do you want me to go with you?’ Mum asked.

The answer was no. But how did I tell her?

‘Girls,’ she said with sudden anxiety, ‘go easy on the rouge while I’m reposing in my coffin.’

‘I’m sorry but I can’t come,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ve no more holiday leave left, not until July.’

‘Nor can I,’ Claire said. ‘Big meeting. Sorry.’

We all turned to Helen who looked uncomfortable and said, ‘I’ve a thing.’

‘What thing? You work for yourself!’

‘Not a work thing.’ Helen gave Mum a cool stare. ‘And not something I can reschedule.’

This was like dropping a lit match into a gas can. Instantly everyone was agog. We were far too enmeshed in each other’s lives, my sisters, Mum and me.