Praying just didn’t work for Jack, so instead he just kept his wife’s seat warm in the church and listened to whatever it was Father Frank had to say, and even then he drifted sometimes. He’d watch the dust particles twirl and dance in the light shafts coming through the stained glass and creating mini-spotlights on the old tiled floor. When mass was over he’d leave immediately and via the side door to avoid another awkward encounter with the priest who missed his pal. How could he answer questions about Molly when he didn’t know the answers himself? She was so caught up in her charity work and her political war cries, they were strangers. She’d murder him when she found out he’d registered to pay the water bill. That would be the fight to end all fights, but the law was the law and without it, chaos. Molly and her Band of Botherers were proof of that if nothing else. Of course he didn’t say that to her, not that she’d listen. Jack felt the happy home they had built over forty years was slowly falling asunder. He could feel everything and everyone he ever loved slipping away. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Rabbit. I was supposed to die a contented old man, leaving behind a happy, healthy family. I was supposed to go first.

Sorry, Da.

It’s not your fault, love.

An hour had passed and Jack was still sitting in the car outside Grace’s house, staring at two cats scoping each other out. He knew the Noonans’ ginger cat, it was about fifteen and had an ear missing; the other one was a white ball of fluff, younger, faster but not as streetwise, and despite feeling dreadfully sorry for himself, the feline stand-off was engaging enough. Suddenly he caught the caravan rocking slightly with the corner of his eye; he turned to look. Yip, the bricks beneath it were moving too – it was slight but there was definite rocking. Earthquake? Not likely, but I’d welcome it.