As the vicar rounds up the service, Trish gets to her feet. A ripple of applause begins, more and more people standing, until I have to follow suit or I’ll be the only one sitting down. As the coffin is carried past me, I look at the mahogany wood and think, ‘You’re not in there – you’re not.’ Because if Jack’s in there, I won’t be able to cope. I’ll die right here on the spot from pain. Instead, I’m just going to feel ashamed that I’ve just crashed some fella’s funeral.

I’m an intruder.

Outside, I stand beside Florrie as the coffin is placed back into the hearse. It’s off to the crematorium where, the vicar had informed the congregation, only immediate family could attend. Florrie is wailing, as is the pal she’s arm in arm with. The girl with the baby in the sling says she has to nip off, pick up her other kid from preschool. They air kiss.

‘Pub?’ Florrie asks around to nobody specific, but her eyes find mine.

I don’t know.

Should I go?

I suppose Trish and John will be expecting to see me there later.

‘I’ve got space in my car,’ a fella says, and another says, ‘Me, too.’

One of them is Ross Robson. Here we are, finally meeting. He’s the tallest of the men here; a fifty-fifty mix of smart and scruffy, with wild curly hair and a sweet baby face for a fella in his late thirties.

‘Ross?’ I say. ‘I’m Chloe.’

He looks at me, blank. He’s not being rude though – I can sense his embarrassment, his panicked search around his mind. Who is Chloe? Did I sleep with her once? Is she a crazy fan? Was she the fat girl in school?

‘Jack’s girlfriend,’ I help him out.

‘Chloe!’ he sings. ‘Ah, mate. We finally meet.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ I say, sadly.

Florrie muscles in. She’s got that whole look going on: the forties dress, the victory roll. Up close, the fascinator is more of a pillbox hat, with a peachy net veil covering half of her face.

‘Flo, this is Chloe,’ Ross says, introducing me.

‘Oh, hi,’ Florrie says, and meekly shakes my hand with the tips of her fingers, all decorated in an assortment of silver rings.

‘As in Chloe,’ Ross tries to spell it out. ‘The girl Jack was dating.’

‘Ohhhh, hiiiiiiiiii.’

Another fella joins, skinny-fat with enormous teeth.

‘I didn’t know Jack was dating someone,’ he snorts, but kindly. ‘What a dark horse!’

‘Actually, we were living together,’ I say.

Ross slaps his hands to his face.

‘Ah, mate,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know it was that serious.’

‘You mustn’t have been together long,’ Florrie suggests.

I shrug. ‘Almost half a year.’

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Florrie cries. ‘That’s hardly any time at all.’