And because it was his father’s funeral and he’d just gone through something intense and traumatic, I didn’t shout, Boom, challenge defeated. Instead, I went on. “Look, maybe think of it like this. Yes, you could have gone up there and delivered the eulogy your mum wanted, but would that have meant anything? Except that the last thing you said about your father was a lie.”

“Is that better or worse than the last thing I said about my father being a string of criticism?”

“You said yourself, he had it coming.”

“Yes, but that was a rhetorical device.”

I gave him a squeeze. “Well, I suppose we did come to bury David Blackwood, not to praise him.”

“Lucien”—he looked unflatteringly surprised—“was that a Shakespeare reference?”

“Hey, I did English A-level. Admittedly because I thought it would be a dossy subject. But I have read Julius Caesar. Or rather, I’ve read that specific speech because I expected it to come up on the exam.”

Laughing, he turned my face towards his and kissed me gently with closed lips. “I do love you. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” I told him. “And I’m very proud of you. I think you did something that…you had to do. And fuck whatever anyone else thinks.” I paused. “But, just to be clear, when I die, I want the full he-was-the-best-person-ever-and-definitely-had-no-faults treatment.”

“You’re that convinced you’ll predecease me?”

“You do all the bullshit stuff you’re supposed to do to take care of yourself like flossing and taking exercise and eating vegetables without being forced.”

“True.” He lifted his brows at me. “On the other hand, I now have a family history of sudden heart failure.”

I winced. That was one of those jokes that only close relatives were allowed to make. Especially at the actual funeral. Looking around the courtyard, I noticed that most of the mourners had gone, which meant we should probably be goneing too. “Do you feel…” I started. “Are you okay to go to the wake?”

Before Oliver could reply, I noticed that one of the few people who hadn’t gone was Christopher, who had just come out of the crematorium and was now bearing down on us with Mia trailing behind him like somebody who really did not want to be trailing.

“What the fuck, Oliver?” he asked the moment he was within earshot.

Oliver looked up. In his defence, he did seem at least a little contrite. “I’m sorry, Christopher, it wasn’t planned.”