‘Are you sure I’ve been here before?’

‘Yes, Nan.’

‘And who do we know here?’

‘Mum, Nan.’

‘My mum?’

‘No, mine, Nan.’

‘Oh, sorry to hear that, dear. Was she nice?’

Chloe guides her left up a winding path. She obeys without question, past lines and lines of neutral mottled headstones, each engraved with names and dates to sum up the soul lying beneath. Chloe has never found graveyards creepy, not like some kids. She remembers late-night dares that she was certain would reward her with friendships she wouldn’t otherwise be entitled to. She’d hear them laugh, their hurried footsteps fleeing as she wandered inside the darkness. Too humiliated to leave, she’d sit down among the stones to read them, fantasising about the people who kept her company that night, and all the ones that followed. Chloe preferred these ghosts to the living – they weren’t anywhere near so cruel. You knew where you were with dead people.

At the top of the path Chloe and Nan turn right and walk across the wet grass until they stand in front of a shiny black headstone: Stella Hudson. Who fell asleep . . .

The pair of them are silent for a moment.

‘Stella Hudson,’ Nan says with a sigh.

Chloe puts an arm around Nan and pulls her closer. She knows what to do, she has watched people in cemeteries for as long as she can remember.

‘Was she one of my old neighbours?’ Nan asks.

Chloe thinks for a second of explaining, while Nan stands looking puzzled at the grave. Instead, she tells her yes, and crouches down closer to the earth, closer to Stella.

‘Oh look, someone’s left some flowers here,’ Nan says.

Cellophane wraps the pink carnations they brought last weekend in an untidy hug, the petals curling, browning at the edges. Chloe pulls them from the vase at the foot of the stone; their slimy stems follow.

‘I know,’ Nan says, her eyes brightening with a new idea, ‘we can put these daffodils in there.’

Chloe takes them from her and peers into the vase, picking out a few dead leaves, and one long, thin slug. She fishes the creature out, examining its shiny back in the palm of her hand, before discarding it onto the grave next door.

‘Oh, there’s no water left,’ Chloe says, picking up the vase.

Nan tuts slowly.

Chloe stands up and looks round. ‘Listen, stay here, I’m going to find a tap.’

She walks away without thinking, then quickly retraces her steps back to Nan. She zips up Nan’s parka, securing it under her chin, and pulls the hood up over her white hair.

‘Stay here, OK?’ Chloe tells her. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

Nan nods.