‘This can’t be easy for you, Constance.’ Dr Franco was taking a seat next to me uninvited.

I turned to him, smiled. ‘No. It’s a sad day for us all.’

He rested his fingers upon my shoulder. I resisted the urge to shrug him off and accepted the discomfort. ‘Dr Stevens told me . . . about your mother. So recent for you . . . and no support network.’

I reached for a magazine, turned its pages. ‘Yes . . . I’m fine, though, Dr Franco.’

‘Please don’t be upset with Dr Stevens. He was only concerned and thought you may benefit from talking with someone. With me. As do I . . . Now, before you say, I know I charge disgusting amounts of money, but the truth is, my chat with Dr Stevens highlighted how I hadn’t taken on any pro bono clients for some years. As a struggling student, from a world very different to the one that I now inhabit, I made a pact with myself that I always would, and frankly, Constance, I’m ashamed. So I assure you it would be for my benefit just as much as yours.’

He was wrong. I wasn’t upset with you. In fact, I was suppressing a grin at how much you cared.

‘Thank you . . . Really, thank you. That’s a very generous offer . . . It’s just that I don’t need to talk. I’m fine. Honestly.’

‘“I’m fine” is one of the most misleading phrases ever to be uttered, I find. It’s just a chat. No harm, hey?’

I attempted to avoid his eyes, but he caught hold of mine and wouldn’t let them go, nodding, until I said, ‘OK . . . Well, thank you, Dr Franco. If you’re sure.’

‘Excellent,’ he said, rising. ‘How about tomorrow lunch?’

‘OK, yes. That’s very kind of you.’ He patted my shoulder and left me to return to Dr Short.

I already felt guilty, knowing that everything I’d tell him would be a lie.

Driving through the cemetery gates, we followed a trail of amber leaves, fallen from thinning trees to reveal a spectrum of grey, ranging from majestic tombs to simple crosses overlooked by crying angels. I remember thinking how even the trees here died before their time.

As we drove at a sedate pace, I imagined beneath the car’s wheels the extended tangle of bones and earth, woven by worms and roots, as we moved through the hovering souls.

Sandwiched between Alison’s inane chattering and Linda’s cries, I observed the crowd of mourners huddled beneath the grand arches of the crematorium. Kissing cheeks. Shaking hands. Wiping tears. The hearse at their centre, shiny and open in preparation.