But that seems to have gone off all right. Maybe having Toby there made a difference. Or maybe Sean has just become a bit less important. Less needed. It’s not like when they were little, when him being there or not made a huge difference to their lives. They’re older now, and Ava’s independent, and Ellie almost is. Whatever they feel about Sean – love, or something like it, though he doesn’t deserve it any more than I do, in my opinion – they don’t really need him any more.

And they don’t need me. Not now. And when they did, I wasn’t there.

I know they care for me, I know that one day they’ll grieve for me, but I can already see them moving beyond me, into lives that I am hopeful about in a way that is new to me: the kind of hope you feel for things that you know you won’t see.

Jenny and I pause by my mother’s grave. I find myself thinking about her often… her determination, her ruthlessness. She only wanted the best for me. But if I’m honest, I was as terrified of her as everybody else was. It always felt as if she was at war with the world, and I was essential to her winning. I didn’t allow myself to see that trying to please her meant letting everybody else down, including myself.

And anyway, I could never have given her what she really wanted. Nobody could. She might not have ever been willing to admit it, but I am sure that what she longed for was to have her sister back, whole and unscathed.

And here is Constance, my aunt, in the space next to my mother, where we laid her to rest the day after I’d met Jenny. I’d only just made it in time, and had been suffering from a raging hangover. That was the only time I’d ever seen my mother cry, and as she dabbed at her face with a handkerchief a single thought had presented itself to me: There is no way I can tell her that my marriage is over.

I leave flowers for both of them. White roses. My mother was particular about flowers, but she always regarded roses as an acceptable offering. And as for Constance… who knows? Maybe she once liked roses, too.

Jenny reached out and takes my hand, and we walk on.

Now I can see Felix’s headstone. He was cremated (such a small body, so few ashes), then interred. That was what Jenny wanted. To have him somewhere she could visit, a peaceful place not too far from home, in the company of the other dead. She hated the thought of decay but wanted to lay him in the earth, as if to sleep. Wanted a grave to take care of. And she does: she has brought flowers to lay down, baby’s breath and lavender and love-in-a-mist, and she’ll be back in a day or two to clear them away and to check for weeds.