Father Brennan clears his throat, a guttural sound that has a hint of phlegm about it. I feel mildly queasy.

‘I know how difficult this must be,’ Father Brennan says. ‘But, Heidi, maybe you might know what his favourite readings were, or maybe his favourite hymns. I’ve a soloist from the choir who is available to do some singing if you want?’

I try to focus on what he is saying but I’m distracted listening for the sound of crying from upstairs.

‘Heidi …’ I hear Marie speak my name.

‘Sorry … I, no. I can’t think. He always, I suppose, he liked that hymn ‘Be Not Afraid’. He used to sing that, after my mother died. I remember that.’

As soon as I say it I want to take it back. I don’t want any memories from then. From that time after she was gone and things just became worse.

‘That’s a grand one,’ Father Brennan says and Marie nods.

‘But don’t feel you have to use it,’ I say as I hear a squeal from my baby echo through the hall. ‘I mean, Marie, maybe you would know more.’

Lily is quiet again. I’m still incredibly uncomfortable. I feel as if all my nerve endings are fizzing.

‘Father, you’ll know, no offence, I’m not a big churchgoer, so I’m fine with whatever you choose,’ I say.

I wonder, could I make my excuses and escape for some fresh air? I don’t care that the sleet has now turned to snow. I just need to breathe.

I make to stand up.

‘Now, have you thought about the Prayers of the Faithful at all?’ he says, stopping me. ‘Would you want to say them, or are there any friends or relations who might? I know some people even like to write them themselves, within reason, though. This is a Mass, after all.’

I shake my head. I don’t want to say them or write them. I’d be happy to drop him off at the cemetery gates and be done with the whole thing.

‘I can sort that out, Father,’ Marie says, her voice solemn.

‘Now, can I check family names? You know I’ll be wanting to mention you all in the homily – and I’d hate to leave anyone out. So there’s yourself, Heidi and Ciara, of course. Marie, you were his wife.’

‘They were divorced,’ I say. ‘More than twenty years ago. He was with my mother, until she died. Natalie. Her name was Natalie.’

I’m shocked to feel tears spring to my eyes at the mention of her name. Then my stomach lurches. He won’t be buried in the same plot as her? Oh Christ, I don’t want him there. I don’t want him near her. I feel a panic build in me. I should’ve said to the undertakers. But surely Ciara wouldn’t want to give any legitimacy at all to Joe’s relationship with my mother? She wouldn’t want them buried together. But I should check anyway. To be sure.