‘Is it to do with those guys who got sacked?’ I ask. Maybe he’s got to keep an eye on them, or perhaps he’s watching what other employees are saying and doing. There are always stories online about bosses spying on their staff’s social media accounts, trying to make sure they’re not badmouthing the company or misusing it in any way.

‘What? Oh, no. Don’t worry about them. They won’t be a problem.’

‘Oh right. Well, that’s good. Does that mean we can put our accounts back up again?’

‘No,’ Tom says, quickly. ‘Not yet. Best to play it safe. I’ll speak to my boss and see what he says.’

‘Was it his decision then?’

‘No. But he’ll have a better idea of what it’s like on the ground. I haven’t been over there, so I don’t want to make any decisions at the moment. I’ll speak to him and let you know.’

I nod. ‘Got much left to do?’

‘Hopefully not.’

‘We’ve got to leave in twenty minutes,’ I say. We’ve agreed to pick up one of Nan’s friends on the way.

‘I know,’ Tom says. ‘I’m perfectly capable of telling the time.’

‘Alright. Just saying. We don’t want to be late.’

In the mirror, I see Tom whip round and glare at me. ‘We’re not going to be late, alright?’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Fine. Sorry.’

I carry on getting ready, the silence deafening between us. Fifteen minutes later, though, I’m starting to get more and more anxious, and I now know we’re almost certainly going to be late.

‘Tom?’ I say, poking my head around the bedroom door. ‘We’ve got less than five minutes. We need to go.’

If I’d seen the look on his face before I started talking, I don’t think I would have said anything. The anger and tension had clearly been building before I even came into the room, and now it explodes in a way I’ve never seen Tom react before.

‘For fuck’s sake, Grace! Stop fucking badgering me, alright? If you want to go, go. There’s hours to go until the funeral, so what’s the rush? She’s fucking dead already, what’s another ten minutes going to matter?’

The words hit me like a bullet, and I try to tell myself this isn’t how he’d normally react. He’s stressed because of work. Because of the guys he had to let go. Because he’s miles away from it all, back here, having to go to a family funeral.

‘Tom, please don’t say things like that,’ I reply, my voice almost a whisper.

‘Why not? What does it matter?’ he barks.

‘Because we’re all very upset at what’s happened and today’s going to be a difficult day for all of us. It’s probably best if we keep calm heads.’

Tom scoffs. ‘She was an old woman who was going to die anyway. What’s the point in getting upset about it?’

‘She was my nan and I loved her,’ I say, fighting back the tears whilst doing my best to stand up to his comments. I know he doesn’t mean them. He’s upset too, and sometimes people react badly. This isn’t him. It’s not the Tom I know and love.