On her last day in the office they had thrown a surprise baby shower party for her, complete with cake and Champagne. Except she had to make do with fizzy water while everybody else guzzled their way through several bottles of Moet. Ironically, her farewell gift was a very generous Topolino voucher, which Jason took great pleasure in presenting to her.

‘Nice touch,’ she said to him.

‘Well, now I know you’ve turned down their offer to go and work for them, I can afford to be magnanimous.’

In the end it hadn’t been a difficult decision to say ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to Charlotte at Topolino. Martha’s loyalty, as she’d discovered after that day of being stuck in the lift at work, lay with BND and when her maternity leave was over, she would happily return. In a bid to encourage her to stay, Jason, as he’d previously hinted at, had promised her a special bonus package to welcome her back.

With Rick’s coffin now disappearing behind the curtains, and clearly in no hurry to drag things out any longer than was necessary, both Mum and Ellis rose from their seats to indicate that they had done their duty, they could all go home now. The ashes, according to Willow’s instructions, would be scattered in the crematorium garden at a later date.

Ellis was helping Mum with her coat, when Martha noticed a woman on her own at the back of the chapel. Had she attended the wrong service by mistake? If so, she must have thought it a very lacklustre affair.

Pushing the pram, with Serenity still sleeping peacefully in it, Willow led the way along the aisle of empty seats, but just as she neared the last row, the solitary woman hitched a handbag over her shoulder and stood up. She had a timid, worn-down appearance, as though life had not treated her well. Martha put her in her late sixties, possibly older. Her short, wiry grey hair was unflatteringly cut and from her washed-out face, a pair of watery grey eyes stared at them nervously.

‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ she said in a breathy voice, her gaze darting towards the inside of the pram, ‘but is that Rich … I mean, Rick’s child?’

Martha took a step forwards, ready to shield Willow from any unwarranted questions, but Mum was ahead of her.

‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked. Her tone wasn’t exactly rude, but it certainly wasn’t overly friendly.

Fiddling with the gloves in her hands, the woman said, ‘I’m Rick’s mother.’

Once they had recovered from their shock, they found a quiet sheltered area outside where they could sit down, and the obvious questions flowed.

How could she be Rick’s mother when he’d told Willow that she had committed suicide?

Why had Rick lied?

And what else was there that might now come to light?

In essence it was an unremarkable tale of a boy growing up with a father who drank too much. A father who, after leaving his wife, was replaced by a stepfather who had little interest in Rick, other than making him toe the line.