‘I’m sure he’d forgive her,’ he said.

‘No way. I’ve read up on it, you can do loads of shite and get away with it as long as you say sorry and believe, but believing is number one, non-believers are . . .’ – she mouthed the word – ‘fucked.’

She looked at June Carter Cash’s grave and read out: ‘June 23, 1929 to May 15, 2003. Psalm 103:1: Bless the Lord, O my soul and all that is within me, bless his holy name.’ She turned to Davey and pointed, ‘See, there it is, “bless his holy name”, that’s sucking up, right there. All the Christians know that their God likes suck-ups.’

‘To be fair I think all the gods like suck-ups,’ he said, and he smiled a little to himself. The kid was right. Our father in heaven, hallowed be your name . . .

The gravestones were finished off with Johnny and June’s signatures in gold. He watched her take in the two beautiful graves in which they lay, side by side, for eternity in their own plot. Home. Juliet placed the love-heart-shaped metal box with sprinkles of her ma in it between the gravestones. ‘Ma, this is Johnny and June; Johnny and June, this is my ma, Rabbit Hayes. If there is an afterlife maybe you could have a word with God, you know, to let her in.’ Juliet sat on the stone bench overlooking the graves.

A pain cut through Davey like a knife. Oh, God how did I not see it? He sat down beside her. ‘Are you worried about your mother?’ he asked gently.

Juliet hunched her shoulders. ‘Would it be so bad to have a couple of holy rollers on her side, just in case?’

Davey hesitated. ‘Do you believe in God? It’s OK if you do.’

‘Dunno. Ma was so sure that God didn’t exist and Johnny and June were so sure he did. If Ma was right, well then it doesn’t matter to Johnny and June because they just lie here forever. If Ma is wrong then they are with God and she’s in hell.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I dream about it. She’s in flames and darkness, begging to come home.’

Davey was at a loss for words; he didn’t know if God existed or if he didn’t exist. He didn’t really care; he didn’t bother God and God never bothered him. He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t even pretend to have one. He just went with his gut.

‘She’s not suffering.’

She stood up and stared him down. ‘How do you know?’

‘I just do.’

‘It’s not an answer.’

‘It’s the only one I have.’

‘It’s not good enough,’ she said.

‘OK then, because of who she was, how she walked through the world, the people she touched, the kindness she showed, how funny and sweet, honest and loving she was.’