I jumped, turning to see Rachel, sweat on her forehead, cheeks flushed. My eyes flashed to Vera up front. I didn’t want her to see me with Rachel, who kept on talking, undisturbed. ‘I didn’t know if Vera wanted me to be here, and then I kept questioning myself, and I decided it didn’t matter. I wanted to be here.’ She adjusted the collar of her dress, loosely draped as usual but black for the occasion. ‘I don’t know the right thing to do with her, but I know I wanted to say goodbye to John. Did you bring the flowers over?’

I nodded instinctively, then stole another look at Vera, who thankfully seemed focused on the line of people.

‘What did she say?’ Rachel asked.

‘She said thank you,’ I lied. ‘But she’s getting a lot of flowers.’ Another lie. ‘They might all blend together for her.’

Rachel’s eyes caught mine, as if wondering who else was bringing Vera flowers. But then she said, ‘How are you holding up?’

‘As good as I can be,’ I said, wishing she’d stop talking to me.

‘And Vera?’ Rachel asked. ‘Is she eating? Sleeping?’

It hit me then, just how much Rachel cared about her old friend. It wasn’t all talk. In her eyes, I could see it, true concern. The way my mother used to look at me when I was younger. The way she looked at me before …

‘Sleeping,’ I said. ‘Eating, not very much.’

‘Well, I’m glad she’s getting some rest, at least.’

I was, too, but I needed this conversation to end. I took a step to the side, trying to open up some space between us, but Rachel didn’t seem to notice. I prayed for a distraction, something to pull Rachel from me, so Vera wouldn’t see us standing here, carrying on as if we were old friends …

‘Oh Christ,’ Rachel said.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Sam came?’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I was surprised, too.’ I took another step to the side.

‘And his daughter,’ Rachel went on, lips pressing together.

For a second, I forgot myself. ‘His daughter? You mean, Claire?’

Rachel nodded. ‘Over there in the front.’

My gaze followed Rachel’s, but the only girl I saw was Al from the restaurant, standing in front of John’s oversize photo, her copper hair catching the light. I shook my head. ‘No. That’s Al. I know her from Schoolhouse.’

Rachel’s head swiveled toward mine. ‘Al? Is that her nickname or something? Would make sense, wouldn’t it? Al, like Alby? Either way, that’s definitely Claire.’ And then, as if to drive home the point: ‘She’s the girl who got caught up in all this.’

I could hardly focus.