Although I’m hungry, I’m not sure I can eat. My stomach is unsettled. Nervous.

‘I’ll probably just have a piece of toast or something,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t go to any trouble for me.’

He kisses the top of my head and takes Lily from me again, stops for a moment to look at me; really look at me.

‘Nothing is too much trouble for you, Heidi. One day, you might believe that.’

Chapter Forty-Five

Heidi

Now

The spectacle of Joe McKee’s funeral has begun. Prayers to a God I most certainly don’t believe in around the coffin. Standing outside, aware that the coffin is being closed and that there are no further chances to see his face again.

Marie has now reached peak grieving-widow mode. All that’s missing is a black mantilla and she would give Jackie Kennedy a run for her money. She sniffs, dabs her eyes. She’ll travel in the funeral cars with Ciara, Stella and Kathleen. Alex and I will make our own way in our car. We are sidelined already. No doubt that will give a message of its own to the gawkers and the grief voyeurs. DI Bradley and DC King are here again. Of course. Maintaining a respectful distance but watching all the same.

I’m sure I also saw a press photographer outside as we arrived. This will be news. Maybe not today, but soon. When the police solve their mystery, or when Ciara can manage to persuade them it was me all along. The cold-hearted, ungrateful wench of a step-child. My not crying won’t help me look any less guilty, but I won’t cry for him. I won’t pretend. They can look at my stony-set face and draw their own conclusions. I’m past caring. Or so I tell myself.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, people moving backwards as the door to the house opens and the undertakers guide Joe’s coffin over the threshold. Some of the male neighbours, a work colleague and Alex step forwards and hoist the coffin onto their shoulders. They’ll walk to the end of the street and then they will put the coffin in the hearse and some of us will continue to follow on foot. A procession of grief, dressed in black, heads bowed against the January wind and sleet. Family, friends, colleagues. Neighbours. People who feel a sense of duty to be there.

Alex has gone back to fetch our car. He’ll meet me in the church grounds. Never have I been so glad that I have Lily with me in her pram. I won’t have to link arms with any of them and walk together, serious of face. I hate it.

I hate how people look.

I remember that from when Mammy died. The people who looked. Who saw me, in my black coat, with my shiny patent shoes, black tights and black dress. Ribbons, black of course, in my hair. My hand limply in Granny’s as she linked on to Grandad.

‘It would break your heart,’ I heard people mutter after. ‘Parents having to bury their child and then that wee girl left.’