I turn left and drive down a long, well-kept road, and park next to an empty hearse. I don’t take my phone with me, I need some peace. Clouds have gathered again, like an avalanche in the sky. They look swollen with rain so I grab Mum’s red raincoat from the passenger seat as I step out into the chilly air. I shiver: even June feels like winter here. The graveyard is made up of a series of different areas that seem to go on forever, a maze of death and decay. Some of the older graves, green with moss, have collapsed on one side over the years. The newer ones stand proud and sturdy, like whoever lies below is still trying to fight off death. The red-brick paths are slippery and so are the steps that join up the different levels. Everywhere I look there are routes leading to more graves. I feel like the only living person for miles. I walk randomly, stopping to read any headstones that catch my eye.

I put the hood up on Mum’s raincoat, but the patter of raindrops on it is too loud. Drip, drip. I pull the hood down again, let my hair get wet. The air is thick, it smells of freshly cut grass and fungus; a few seagulls scream in circles above. The rain clouds have darkened the sky so much the day seems forced into early twilight and I’m suddenly aware that I’m in a graveyard, on my own. Usually I’d be spooked, but I feel oddly calm here amongst the graves and I realize how exhausted I am, how much I’d love to lie down on the soft, damp grass and join the endless sleep for a little while.

It’s starting to rain harder now so I head for the edge of the graveyard, to shelter in the line of trees there. A raindrop runs, like a finger, in a cold stream down my back. I shiver and pull the hood up again. The light is a sickly yellow now, the day slowly being smothered by the gray clouds. I look back at the crematorium for reassurance. The building looks like a tiny model from here; another car is in the parking lot, the headlights on already in the murky light. I decide to turn around, but as I turn back towards the parking lot something familiar hooks my eye. I recognize the gentle shape, the drooping branches in the strange light. There could be a hundred willows in this graveyard, but this one’s not much further down the path—it marks the beginning of a small wood on the edge of the graveyard. Now I’m here, I want to find Danny’s grave. I need to see the place where Grace might soon be buried too. I bite my bottom lip as I feel the tears build, but I don’t want to cry now.