She watched Patrick scanning the church and finally his eyes found hers. She smiled at him briefly. His face immediately relaxed and for those few seconds she felt once more the pull he had on her.

After the Mass, as the mourners left the church and the body was taken to the grave, Patrick fell into step beside her. He held on to her arm lightly but firmly as if frightened she was going to run away. Kate glanced at him and saw the tears on his long dark lashes. She realised that he needed her, and more to the point, she needed him. She accompanied him to the graveside. As the priest began the final blessings she felt his grief as if it was a physical thing. His shoulders heaved and instinctively she grasped his hand tightly and he held on to her, pulling her to him. She knew that it was taking all his willpower not to break down there and then, in front of everybody. He was finally burying his beloved child and the full realisation of all that had happened had only just hit him.

Mandy was not coming home.

Not now, not ever.

Kate saw that she was buried beside her mother. Poor Patrick. His whole life was now buried in two small plots of land.

Kate saw Patrick’s sister watching her and dropped her gaze. Finally it was all over and people began to make their way back to their cars. Patrick stood at the graveside, oblivious of the offers of condolence. Kate stayed beside him and noticed Kevin Cosgrove standing apart from all the others. He waited until the grave was quiet and walked to it. On Mandy’s coffin, now lying in the ground, waiting to be covered, he threw a single white rose. Then he walked away.

‘Come on, Patrick, you’d best get yourself back home now.’ She pulled him gently away.

‘I can’t go back to that house, Kate. I can’t talk to all those people.’

‘You must. Come on, I’ll drive back with you. You have to face people. It’s just the shock of what’s happened hitting you.’

Patrick’s sister Grace walked with them. She was about fifty, Kate judged, and looked well on it considering she had been up all night. Her hair was perfect as were her make-up and clothes. She was as fair as Patrick was dark.

‘Come on, Pat. Let’s get this over with. I don’t believe we’ve met, dear. I’m Grace . . . Grace Kelly. I know what you’re going to say but I’m used to it by now.

‘Come on, Pat, the sooner we get this lot back, the sooner we can get shot of them. Old Auntie Ethel’s pissed as a newt and if we’re not careful she’ll be taking bets on how many cartwheels it would take to go round the church.’

Kate saw Patrick relax. Grace Kelly was obviously a woman you listened to and nothing else. She kept up a running commentary all the way to the car.