I stared at my phone. It was as if I’d been turned to stone. I’d been awake for ten minutes before I’d reached for my mobile and had been enjoying wallowing in the best spare room, a bedroom I’d known well as a girl but never slept in. My own bedroom was small, with a single bed, and since it was clearly going to be a while before I could move to the cottage, it had been unilaterally decided that I’d sleep in this much larger room, where there was a double bed and an en suite bathroom. In my youth I’d occasionally popped in to help Mum change the sheets, put flowers in a vase for a visitor, or borrow a book from the rather interesting guest bookcase, but had never had the pleasure of staying in here myself. I wondered, as I admired the spriggy Colefax wallpaper and the thick creamy curtains, not nearly as tired as the rest of the house on account of being used less, if this sort of look would work in the cottage? Or whether to go all pale wood, white walls and clean lines? I reached for my mobile to have a look at room set ideas on Pinterest, and suddenly all frivolous decorative notions turned to dust.

My mouth went dry. I read it again and shut my eyes. All at once I was back in my old life, transported to the horror of so many long and frightened years. Why? Why couldn’t I just escape? Why did I have to be dragged back to All That when yes, all right, returning to the womb had not been exactly brave, but had at least proved to be busy, amusing and hopefully useful, and had totally taken my mind off my past. I hated Amanda. I just hated her. I also wondered if she’d ever go away. I sat up on my pillows and rang Ned.

‘Mum.’

‘Hi, darling. I’ve just had a message from Amanda. Apparently you said you’d take a memorial service for Dad.’

‘Eh? No, she sent me a text saying she was thinking of planning one and that she was talking to you. I assumed the two of you had spoken. I was surprised you were agreeing to it, actually. I was going to ring you, but I only got the text late last night.’

I shut my eyes, feeling the familiar fury about being lied to and manipulated, which almost made me tremble. The audacity of these people: of this brother and sister act. The sheer mendacity and outrageousness. I would not have it, I wouldn’t. Then the fear.

‘Can I say no? Is it up to me?’

‘Well, you can certainly say you don’t want it.’

‘I’ll ring her,’ I said, trying to keep the emotion from my voice.