‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, between sobs, ‘I’m sorry you were so unhappy. I’m sorry I threw the pavlova into your face. And I’m sorry you got sick. How did it happen? God has clearly been on sabbatical for the past few years and left a hopelessly unqualified intern in charge.’

‘Is that what you’re going to say? At the funeral?’ Amber asked.

‘What? No. Why should I have to speak? I’m the youngest.’

‘Because you’re our wordsmith, Ruby,’ Emerald stated. Amber nodded her agreement.

It was the first time they’d ever called me that. It made me feel as though I’d won the Booker Prize.

A few days later, in church, people who barely knew Ruth Ryan were sobbing and blowing their noses. The church swelled like a throat with the sound of hymns and organ. Our mother’s church book group, about ten imperious women, sat in the first few pews on the right. When some of their ex-husbands appeared with new, shiny young brides on their arms, the bookish dames glowered and closed ranks, whispering behind liver-spotted hands how dare they turn up again after all these years.

I sat in the front left pew, flanked by my warring siblings, contemplating the notes I’d written about what to say at this coming out party for a ghost. Our mother had enough chips on her shoulder to open a casino. She left a substantial amount of money in her will to the Catholic Church so that prayers would be said for her, but no amount of prayers could get our mother out of purgatory. It’s more likely she’s already terrorising the inmates of hell. Oh, and we burnt the will because where there’s a will, there’s a way! was what I wanted to say. But when I rose to my feet, I said, instead –

‘We all know that none of us gets out of this place alive, but losing a parent is always so difficult to take. I know that some of you have a rather peculiar conviction that it’s only a temporary parting – don’t tell Richard Dawkins! But I’m not religious, so have nothing comforting to say about where our mother has gone. Our father was a great traveller and often said that he thought death must be a rather fine adventure, as he could think of no one who’d ever returned from the trip. So, bon voyage, Mum. My sisters and I have agreed that we will make a handsome donation to this church our mother so loved – just as soon as women are allowed to be ordained as priests.’

I glanced at my sisters, who gave me the thumbs up.

‘My mother was an intelligent, contradictory and complex woman, but she did give me the greatest gift possible – two warm, witty, wise and wonderful sisters. I’m going to call them up now. Emerald, Amber?’