‘Joe will look after her. God love him,’ someone muttered back.

We reach the church, St Eugene’s Cathedral near the centre of town, and Alex is beside me, Lily now in his arms, as we file down the aisle after the coffin. I listen to readings and prayers and hymns are sung. Father Brennan tells us the gates of heaven will be open wide to welcome Joe McKee back into the Lord’s house, and that while we might be sad, there will be rejoicing in heaven as a man of faith, of strong heart, of generosity, comes home.

I fidget in my seat. The priest talks of how Joe is reunited with those who went before him. His parents. His cousin, Paul. His aunt, Alice. I brace myself for hearing my mother’s name – knowing each time I hear it, it gives me comfort to know she’s remembered, but at the same time hurts because I still miss her so.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

‘And all those who have gone before him in faith to rest with the Father,’ Father Brennan says, skipping over my mother’s name. Erasing her from his narrative.

I open my eyes, look around me. Ciara and Marie both have their heads bowed in prayer. Kathleen is clutching a wrinkled tissue in her hands and looking straight ahead. I wonder can they feel my eyes on them. I wonder which of them told Father Brennan not to say her name.

Alex rests his hand on my knee, as if calming me. Is it an act of comfort, or is he afraid I’ll make a scene, right here, in the church in front of everyone? When everyone is starting to think I’ve lost the run of myself anyway. No, I’ll keep my peace. Grit my teeth and get through the day. Focus on being home in my own space later, away from it all.

Before I know it, we’re filing out again, in convoy behind the coffin, heading towards the City Cemetery. I realise I didn’t speak to Ciara, or any of them, after all, about the plot he will be buried in, but I assure myself it will be fine. They didn’t acknowledge my mother’s life at all during the Mass, so surely none of them would be so crass as to think he deserved to lie with her now.

So my stomach lurches as we approach the cemetery and the hearse does not turn down towards the new plots but instead turns left and travels up the hill to the older graves. To where my mother has been lying for the past twenty years.

‘They’re making a mistake,’ I say to Alex.

‘I think they know what they’re doing,’ he replies, his car following slowly, trying to gain a purchase on the icy ground.

But I can see it. I can see that my mother’s grave has been disturbed. A large mound of brown soil covered with a green plastic cover rests beside it. Before I know it, before I’ve had time to make a conscious decision to do so, I have unfastened my seat belt and am reaching for the door handle.