I looked at myself in the mirror. Red was a colour that didn’t do anything for me at the best of times, but now at almost six months’ pregnant, it made me look hideous. But I was doing it for Eve. My sweet, funny Eve. But now that grief was muddled with my loss of Ben. There were moments of panic – what if something had happened to him, what if he was in trouble – but these just subsided when I remembered my parting words to him and what I had accused him of. Then there was the pain from losing Eve that kept rushing to the surface. And somewhere still within me, I had a nagging feeling that I didn’t know the whole truth. As much as it filled me with complete despair to think my husband, Ben, the man I loved with such raw emotion, could lie to me, the doubt would not subside. There was something he hadn’t told me. I was too familiar with how much strength it took to cover up the lies. And I could see it all too clearly in the man I thought I knew.

But today, I somehow had to compartmentalise it or I would fall down. I boxed it away, ready to deal with it after the funeral. My feelings for Ben were nudging me every now and again throughout the day, forcing me to ask myself the obvious questions, where was he, why hadn’t he called, why would he say he had to leave so suddenly after Eve’s death? But today my focus had to be with Eve, and saying goodbye to the most precious friend I had ever had.

Out of the speakers came the lyrics ‘Read My Mind’ by The Killers and all around me heads were turning. Smiles came through faces of tears and I watched as Eve’s friends and relatives, felt the same mix of emotions that I was having. Suddenly the song, which had rapidly become Eve’s favourite last year, took on a whole new meaning and I knew that from then on whenever I heard it, it would remind me of the day they cremated my best friend.

Once the coffin had arrived at the front of the room where about sixty people were gathered to pay their respects, I took my place at the front, next to Patrick. I glanced across to the other side where I saw Eve’s mother sitting. Her shoulders and head were hunched over, and her arms were shaking as though she had no control over them. Her lank dark hair was long and hung around her face. She looked thin and malnourished. Her splash of red, as was the dress code for Eve’s day, was a crumpled red blazer over a white shirt and un-ironed black trousers.

The humanist took her place at the lectern and welcomed the congregation. Just the mention of Eve’s name under these circumstances didn’t seem plausible and I felt the hot heavy tears coming. I felt a strong arm around my shoulder. It surprised me and for a sudden moment I thought Ben had arrived. I turned to my left and patted Patrick on his knee. He wasn’t Ben, but it was a comfort.