‘But how did you know about the funeral today?’ Martha persisted. The family had been careful not to let the date or whereabouts of the cremation become general knowledge and, to Martha, this weak, ineffectual woman didn’t come across as being the resourceful sort who would know her way round Google to find out something like that.

‘One of the newspaper articles I read said that his fiancée and her family lived in West Sussex, so I took a chance and rang the crematorium here. I said I wanted to send flowers.’

She suddenly turned to look at Willow, her expression pleading. ‘He was good in the end, wasn’t he, by trying to help that old lady?’ Her tone was pitiful, as though seeking some kind of assurance that, as his mother, she hadn’t failed her son entirely.

‘Yes,’ Willow said, without hesitation, and avoiding Martha’s questioning gaze. ‘He acted with selfless courage. That’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?’

Itching to contradict her sister, to tell this pathetic woman what a monster she had helped create, Martha forced herself to keep quiet.

‘I always knew there had to be some good in him somewhere,’ said Eileen. ‘And I suppose he proved himself right, in that he not only made a success of his life, but he made a real name for himself. The papers called him a hero, didn’t they?’

‘Yes,’ murmured Willow.

Martha felt for her sister. This might be helping Rick’s mother come to terms with her son’s death, and her abject failure in caring for him, but it was the last thing Willow needed. The last thing any of them needed on today of all days.

Mum plainly thought the same. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘it’s been a long and difficult day and I really think we should be—’

‘Why weren’t there more people here for his funeral?’ the woman interrupted. ‘I’d have thought more of his friends and work colleagues would turn out for him.’

‘This is what he would have wanted,’ Willow answered her. ‘He didn’t like a lot of fuss.’

‘I see,’ she said. Then pushing back the sleeve of her coat to look at her watch, she said, ‘I’ll have to go soon to catch my train. I mustn’t miss it. I need to be home before my husband gets back tonight from his fishing trip. That’s how I was able to come today.’

‘What do you mean, able to come?’ asked Martha.

‘He wouldn’t have been happy at the idea of me coming here. So it’s better he never knows that I did.’

‘Do you have far to go?’ asked Mum. Perhaps, like Martha, she was concerned that if the woman lived nearby, she might want to start making regular visits to see her granddaughter.

‘I live in Gravesend,’ she replied, ‘and … well … because I don’t get out much, I found the journey coming here a bit daunting. I had to change trains in London and very nearly didn’t make my connection.’ She looked again at her watch and this time she suddenly seemed agitated, as if the thought of her return journey was making her anxious. She rose clumsily to her feet, dropping her handbag in the process. ‘Before I go,’ she said in a flustered voice, the bag now hitched over her shoulder, ‘may I take a peek at the baby?’