It was strange to see her: for so long Joe and I had thought she’d walked out on him and Gus and Jasper, when in fact she’d only been in Reading. I had to remind myself of that every time I looked at her. She’d gone on a course and never seen her son again, and those many, many times that Joe had caught the train to Reading to spend his last hours with her hadn’t happened in the version of her life that she remembered. She had long white hair and loose yoga-person clothes, and she drifted around with perfect posture. I looked, now, at her straight back, her lifted chin, and I wished her comfort and peace.

There were lots of other people around them. They were family members who had come from all over the world. Joe had once mentioned that he had cousins, but I couldn’t really remember him saying anything about them. Here they were, though: adults with families and jobs and busy lives, all gathered to say goodbye to Joe. There were numerous next-generation cousins too: the ones of my age or thereabouts. One of them had particularly caught my eye because he looked far more like Joe than anyone else in this church apart from Zara. I kept finding myself staring at him, and then looking away.

Enzo was here. The French exchange boy who Joe had been perpetually about to visit had actually come over from St Etienne to say goodbye to the friend he’d never met. He was warm, friendly, chatting to everyone in brilliant English, and I knew that if Joe had been able to go on the trip they’d have become good friends.

Troy was sitting in the second row with his wife Amélie (dark and gorgeous, wearing a lovely floaty dress) and baby Joe, who was up there with Raffy in the most adorable baby stakes. He had squishy rosy cheeks and a beaming smile that lit up his whole face, and he was wearing a Babygro with escargot written on it and an embroidered snail.

‘Hello, baby Joe,’ Sasha had said. ‘This is baby Rafael Joe. You’re the two Joes. How lovely is that?’ She and Amélie had talked about the babies so animatedly that Troy and I were abe to have a conversation without anyone overhearing.

‘We did it,’ he said. ‘Ariel. Thank you. We actually did it.’

‘I still can’t believe it was my dad.’

‘I’m so sorry. Do you miss Joe very much?’

I looked around, but no one was listening. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Oh God, Troy. I miss him with all my heart, every single day.’

‘Me too.’

Then Jasper came over, and I remembered something Joe had once said.

‘Jasper?’ I said. ‘Someone told me I should ask you about the subtle art of clowning.’