I sat there in a stupor, gazing at the dandruff dusting the shoulders of the man in front. He was so big that he blocked the view; I had no idea who was speaking at the lectern. Not that I would have known them anyway. The old woman next to me had put away her phone and was now rummaging for a hanky. She couldn’t find one and I passed her a Kleenex. She took it and blew her nose honkingly, like a man.

We stood up to sing ‘Abide With Me’. Just for a moment, I felt swept up in the general warmth. I was a gatecrasher, I shouldn’t be there, but as the singing swelled I found that tears sprang to my own eyes. For it was only then that I realised the truth: That I’d simply sought comfort. And that I’d found it here, surrounded by the bereaved. We were all grieving for someone we’d lost.

No wonder I’d bought the little black dress. ‘I’m in mourning for my life,’ says Chekhov’s Masha. And no wonder I was drawn to funerals. There was nothing weird about it. I just wanted to be amongst people who were stricken with sorrow. To all be in it together.

A weight lifted off me. I sat dreamily through the rest of the service. Words drifted past. Susan’s long career as a nurse … how devoted she’d been to her five grandchildren …

I didn’t pay attention. The sun had come out. It flooded through the window, bathing me with forgiveness. How stupid I’d been! When this was over I would slip away and go home. Nobody would be the wiser, and this bizarre episode would be consigned to oblivion.

Except that it wasn’t. Susan slid into the flames and we, the living, stepped into the sunshine. It was there that I found myself in a queue, waiting to shake hands with a man I took to be her widower, Evan.

It was too late to escape. My hand was clasped in his firm grip.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ I muttered.

‘Thank you.’

He was tall and surprisingly attractive. Fine features, full head of hair. Not what I was expecting, whatever that might have been.

I tried to move on, but he still held my hand.

‘And you are?’

‘Prudence,’ I said. ‘I was at nursing college with your wife.’

‘So you’re a Nottingham lass, too?’

‘Yes,’ I lied, ‘though we hadn’t seen each other for ages.’

‘Well, it was very good of you to come today.’ He smiled down at me. ‘I hope we’ll see you at the house.’

I gave him a vague smile and moved off. As I did so, a woman said: ‘Anyone want a lift?’

Just then the strangest thing happened. A jolt shot through me. It was pure adrenalin. I thought: why the hell not? Suddenly I felt more alive than I had for years—recklessly, thrillingly alive—the scent of danger in my nostrils.

‘Yes, please,’ I said.