My face looked gaunt. I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror for a while and was shocked at my appearance. Make-up would remedy that. And I’d better do something about my hair.

I drove to the church in time to see the hearse arriving. A floral ‘MUM’ was propped against the coffin. I remembered that day at Shania’s shop. It had happened in another life, a life with Azra in it. Greg had disappeared but in those days I’d still had my best friend. She’d told Shania my troubles but I’d simply thought her indiscreet. What treachery lay ahead! She’d bounded up front doorsteps, muttering into her mobile. No doubt muttering to my husband.

They’d even been on holiday together. It beggared belief. I pictured Azra, supposedly in France, standing in the bows of a narrow boat, chugging along the Kennet and Avon Canal. When a lock approached, she leaped onto dry land. She wrenched the wheel with her thin, muscular arms. Water gushed through the fissures of the lock gates and Greg, standing at the helm, rose up in their barge like a god. Their eyes met; he gave her a thumbs up. This Greg was totally unknown to me. He was the captain of their ship, the captain of Azra’s heart, and at night they lay in each other’s arms in their cramped little cabin that smelled of toilet chemicals, but they didn’t mind; they loved each other.

‘You can’t park here.’ A face loomed at my window. ‘Oh, sorry, dear. You OK?’

I wiped my eyes, crashed the gears and drove into the car park.

In the church, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows. It was a great barn of a place and only half full. This time, for some reason, I didn’t feel awkward. I just felt upset—for me, for everyone. We were all suffering in our own way, some more than others. I might be low down the list but I still felt companioned.

Lead us, Heavenly Father, lead us

O’er the world’s tempestuous sea;

Guard us, guide us, keep us, feed us,

For we have no help but Thee …

As the thin, wavery voices rose, so did my tears. Who were these people? It didn’t matter. My stupid scheme evaporated and I was overcome with sorrow.

‘Excuse me,’ I whispered, clutching a Kleenex to my nose. I squeezed my way along the pew and hurried to the door.

Outside I leaned against a gravestone, shuddering and wheezing. Why did this always happen in public? Nearby an undertaker loitered under a tree. He saw me, dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his foot. I really should have confined these meltdowns to the privacy of my own home, but they caught me unawares. For some reason they happened a lot in car parks.

‘Don’t be upset, love. She’s gone to a better place.’

I swung round. A young woman had come out of the church and stood behind me. She held a baby in her arms.