‘Out of practice,’ she says when she’s got her breath back. ‘But it’s either this or a double vodka.’

I am shocked. With her new sensible appearance, her conservative take on life and the rosary beads she had pulled from her bag and insisted were to be placed in my father’s hands when the coffin was opened, I didn’t see her as the double-vodka type. I don’t even see her as the single-vodka type, if I am honest.

Her hand is shaking ever so slightly as she lifts the lit cigarette to her lips one more time and inhales again, exhaling more naturally this time.

‘It’s all too much at times, isn’t it?’ she asks, looking out at the small patch of lawn that makes up my mother’s garden.

‘It is,’ I agree, asking for a drag of her ‘proper’ cigarette, enjoying the hit of the warm smoke at the back of my throat. ‘I’m nervous. Of seeing him again, you know. Is that silly?’

‘Is that what has you so shaken up?’

I nod. I’ll not tell her about the set-to I’ve just have with my mother, even though the sting of her hand still burns at my cheek.

‘Among other things,’ I say wryly.

‘Do you think they have any evidence?’ Kathleen asks. ‘I mean, you see these shows now on the TV and they always catch the killer. There’ll be a hair, or a fingerprint, or a drop of blood or something …’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it much. I’m still hoping they’ll come back and say they made a mistake.’

‘Do you think they will?’ Her eyebrows raise. ‘I thought it was all pretty conclusive at this stage. They wouldn’t release his body if there was any question.’

Her expression sags again as she speaks. Almost as if she allowed hope to flicker in for the briefest of seconds before the reality of where we are sets back in.

I suck on my e-cig before sending a billow of fragrant steam into the air.

‘I don’t get the impression they are minded to drop the investigation any time soon,’ I say.

She sniffs at the air, drops the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and grinds it out with the heel of her shoe.

‘What if they can’t pin it on anyone? What do you think they’ll do? Will it be worse if we don’t ever really know what happened?’

She looks sad. Lost. Dad was her only sibling. She has him on some out-of-reach pedestal and while I’d love to knock it out from under him and tell her the truth, not even I would be that cruel.

‘I don’t know,’ I say with a shrug.

I can’t think straight any more. I’m exhausted with thinking. I’m exhausted by it all.

My mother’s voice from the kitchen, announcing that she needs us to discuss a floral tribute, disturbs us. I take one last drag from Kathleen’s cigarette before handing it back to her.