The pointlessness of my life and the inevitable approach of death was laid bare, right there, in black and white. No wonder I suddenly felt as though I’d been buried alive.

Moments later, standing at the water’s edge, watching our matriarch bobbing on the tide, we girls clung to each other like barnacles on the hull of HMAS Family, storm-tossed in big, unchartered seas. Through grief we had coalesced into one familial organism, made mute by memories.

‘All I can think about is Dad’s death,’ I said, finally. ‘I can remember the sound of our hearts splitting open. Can’t you? We loved him so much. And he loved our mother, even if he wasn’t all that great at showing it. So, there must have been some good in her. Mum can’t just be a Disney villain. Something made her become the wicked witch.’

‘Perhaps it was giving up work?’ Amber conjectured. ‘Dad made her do that. Maybe that’s what gave her a touch of the Hedda Gablers? She was bright enough to have been running a company, but had no outlet for all that clever, ruthless scheming.’

‘Plus, they were just so spectacularly matrimonially mismatched,’ Emerald added. ‘Yes, Dad was irresistibly charming, but he was also a womaniser.’

‘God, yes! He offered matrimony to so many women, both before and after he was married, that Mum called him Lord of the Rings, do you remember?’ I said, and we found ourselves laughing again. ‘Who knows what Mum was like before he hurt her. We always thought he had affairs because she was so awful, but maybe she was so awful because he had affairs. I mean, look at us, all bitter and twisted over a bout of infidelity. Mum was right about one thing – now we do know how she felt. Her bitterness morphed into sarcasm then carcinoma. We mustn’t go that same way. We can start by forgiving her,’ I said, firmly. ‘And each other.’

‘Are you sure you’re the little sister?’ Emerald asked, rubbing the top of my head affectionately.

‘I’m so, so sorry about Harry,’ Amber gushed. ‘I was confused. A mess. A menopausal hot mess of hormones and despair and denial about my sexuality. I felt starved of intimacy to the point of insanity. Does that make sense?’