My other friends had no idea about this event, and if I’m honest, knew nothing of the real Michael. I’d kept up the façade of a decent marriage, although some, like Maggie, my author friend, I’m pretty sure saw through it. Simon and Millie Taylor I’d met through Michael, and they turned as I approached. The Bakers, too, nodded and smiled consolingly. They’d all written to me when he’d died, but I’d contacted none of them since. How the hell had Amanda got hold of them? Then I remembered she’d asked to read my condolence letters: told me people’s kind words helped. I hadn’t asked for them back, I hadn’t wanted them, so of course she had the letterheads. I took a shaky breath. All my senses seemed to be in overload. There were flowers everywhere: on the ends of the pews, two huge pedestals by the altar, on all the stone ledges. Creamy white, overblown displays frothed extravagantly. The lilies, which I hated anyway, with their huge, confrontational heads and yellow staining stamens, were heady and strong. I breathed through my mouth to resist their scent, hoping they wouldn’t make me feel sick again. This must have cost a fortune.

With my heart beating right at the base of my throat, we paused at the front pew. Helena’s hand was still under my elbow. I didn’t want to catch anyone else’s eye so I kept my head bowed as together we slipped along to where Ned and Imo were sitting either side of Amanda. She was dressed entirely in black with a huge hat and veil, at odds with the rest of the women in the congregation who were more colourful, regarding a memorial service as a celebration of life, rather than a mourning of one. As I tucked my skirt under to sit down, I inadvertently spotted a few of Michael’s Soho friends in the row behind. Pete who ran the pub. Tony, from the neighbouring Italian restaurant. The Greene brothers, Bob and Gerard: the former a reformed gambler, the latter a living and – just about – breathing one. Florid of complexion and with red-veined eyes, wearing a camel hair coat, he looked frail and shaky, as did the rest of his pals. In the very old days they’d come to the house, to drink and play cards in the kitchen, staying up late. A few awkward smiles were exchanged. I sat down next to Imo who kissed me and tightly squeezed my arm.

Amanda leaned across, her eyes full of tears. She took my hand. ‘Are you all right?’ she quavered.

‘Yes, fine, thank you.’