Her mother nodded at her vigorously, as if her encouragement could carry Jude over all the hurdles in her mind. Jude took a bite of the damp, buttery pastry and felt it comfort her. There were flowers on the little table and the room was clean and bright. She saw the wishbone necklace coiled up where it had lain since the last time she had been here and had discovered that she was Liam’s executor. She picked it up, holding its weightlessness in her palm.

“Also,” her mother continued. “I mean, I know it’s just temporary, but I don’t think the flat you’re borrowing is very good for your spirits.”

“You can say that again.”

“So what about finding somewhere else to live?”

“Yes.”

“With friends?”

“Maybe.”

“It might be nice for you not to be alone. After everything you’ve been through.”

“You’re probably right.”

Jude put the wishbone round her neck, took another bite of croissant, another mouthful of coffee. She looked at her mother sitting across from her and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said. “And you’re right: I need to sort my life out. I’ll call work first.” She dreaded that. “And then get in touch with the gang, think about where to live. One thing at a time.”

Later that day, Jude went for a walk by herself, through the little wood, her feet rustling among the fallen leaves, up the hill, round past the barn where she and Nat were to have had their wedding party, back along the high street. She stopped at the bakery to buy a loaf of bread and when she came out found herself face-to-face with Tara Birch, although at first she didn’t recognize her, because she was wearing a long black coat with a hood pulled over her head.

Both of them looked shocked. Tara didn’t smile.

“I wasn’t expecting to bump into you. I was visiting a friend nearby and then thought I’d look in on . . .”

She trailed off and they stared at each other.

“Are you all right?” asked Jude.

“Not really. Are you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Do you want a coffee or something?”

Jude didn’t, but couldn’t find a way to say no. They walked in silence up the road till they came to a small café that wasn’t warm enough. Tara ordered them both coffees and sat at a little table opposite Jude. With her hood pulled back, Jude saw how terrible she looked. Her face seemed to have shrunk so that all her features appeared oversized; her skin had a chalky pallor, apart from a rash on one cheek.

“That night at the party,” Tara said. “I’m not usually like that.”

“It was your son’s funeral,” said Jude softly. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”