As soon as I’d sat down and we’d exchanged a few pleasantries, before I’d even taken a sip of water or looked at the menu, she started. Her back straightened, she clasped her hands in front of her and spoke crisply and fluently as if I was at an interview. She even thanked me for coming. Then she told me, in no uncertain terms, exactly where the service was going to be: St Luke’s, Chelsea; what the order of service was – she produced, not a draft, but a creamy stiff original from her bag; who was doing the readings; and who was doing the flowers (Lady up-your-bottom-someone she’d been at school with).

‘Ned won’t read,’ I said quickly, when I saw his name by one of the planned readings, which I knew immediately was a big mistake, because I’d fallen into her trap.

‘Oh well, never mind. I’ll ask a friend to do it,’ she said sweetly, whipping the order of service card back from my hands. I realized I’d spoken as if it were already happening.

‘I’m afraid none of us will come,’ I said firmly. ‘We don’t want it, Amanda.’

Her over-stretched brow furrowed as much as it was capable. ‘Well, how strange. Don’t you think that will look rather odd? As if you’re pleased he’s dead or something?’

My breathing became a bit shallow. ‘Well no, of course we’re not pleased he’s dead—’

‘No, I didn’t say that, I said it might look that way. But since you mention it, Lucy, are you pleased he’s dead?’

‘No, of course not!’ I said, flustered, reaching for my wine glass. She’d already poured us both a glass, and although as a rule I don’t drink at lunchtime, for once I was grateful. I took a swig.

She made a thoughtful face. ‘It’s just I haven’t quite glimpsed you as the grieving widow yet. No tears at the funeral, from any of you, and I couldn’t control myself. Sobbed all the way through. Now shock I understand, but that sort of numbness usually passes and gives way to terrible, searing agony, a realization of a huge void that can never be filled. A great aching chasm, anger even, as you realize the only man you’ve ever loved is never coming back, hm?’ She put her head on one side, quizzically. ‘Oh, scallops, please. With a small green salad.’ This to the waitress, who was poised beside us.

‘Um, the same, please,’ I muttered, without looking at the menu.