My mother is beside herself with emotion that he will be back in what was our family home. It does nothing to make me believe she doesn’t still love him. That she never stopped loving him.

We can’t all escape the overall feeling that everything is off-kilter, though. Yes, we will be able to bury him, and that will provide a small amount of relief, but a cloud hangs over us all. Nothing is really resolved. They will be watching us all intently as we grieve. Looking for clues. For some reason, they don’t seem to be picking up on my hints about Heidi. As usual she seems to be able to win people around with her little-girl-lost act. But I’m not buying it and I’ll make sure no one else does, either.

‘Can we keep the house private, Mum?’ I ask. It will be bad enough to have the police hovering.

‘Lots of people will want to say their goodbyes to your father,’ she says.

It’s virtually unheard of for houses to remain closed to visitors during a wake. She’s right, of course people will want to traipse in and out, pay their respects, offer a quick prayer by the coffin side and then sit with us and drink their tea while eating curling sandwiches.

‘Lots more will want to gawk,’ I say. ‘People are talking, Mum. They know something is up. Don’t you think they’ll all just want a nosy at us? They’ll be trying to figure out whodunnit.’

The expression sounds more flippant than I intended and my mother baulks.

‘There’s no need to be so crass. Your father is dead, Ciara. Murdered, if the police are right.’

She says the word ‘murdered’ in a whisper. None of us can really believe we are even saying these words or thinking this way.

‘Well, that’s more reason not to have all and sundry walking in through the door, then. There’ll be people who didn’t even know him or care about him wanting in. They can gawk at the funeral if they want, but give us this at least.’

‘He deserved a better send-off than this …’

Mum looks bereft. I’ve never understood how she remained so fond of him for all these years. I remain convinced that if he had asked her if they could try again she would have jumped at the very thought. Her continued loyalty to him is something that I have to admit I struggle to understand. Then again, she doesn’t know everything. That angers me. Her unyielding loyalty to him.

‘What he doesn’t deserve is people wanting to make him nothing more than a news story and what I don’t need is people eyeing me up, trying to work out if I’m responsible for putting him in the ground in the first place!’

My voice is high-pitched. Screechier than normal. I can see Mum recoil further and further as the volume of my voice increases.

‘Ciara, please,’ she says, her voice small, lacking in its usual authoritative tone. ‘Please just stop. I don’t want to have this conversation.’