“The wind shook the cherry blossom trees so petals danced around Georgia’s body like a flurry of snowflakes. She took a deep breath, stuck out her chest and batted them off her shoulders and from her hair. Her heart pitter-pattered when she thought about her next step into the unknown. The journey might be long, and the terrain would certainly be rocky, but she told herself that wherever she went there would always be flowers. She refused to be scared about whatever lay ahead...”

Liv’s voice wobbled as it echoed around the room. Afterward, she hurriedly pushed the book back into her bag. Her legs quaked as she walked toward the polished wooden casket at the front. A sob rose in her chest when she thought about Essie lying inside, and she frantically plucked out her own image of the writer instead, wearing her blue embroidered dress and proudly clasping her crystal Constellation star.

“Sleep tight, Essie,” Liv whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

She stood there for a while, until Anthony appeared at her side.

“I’d like to say goodbye, too,” he said. “Alone.”

Liv obliged and stumbled outside. She stood on the doorstep for a while, taking gulps of the damp air. The rain had dispersed, and the sky had lightened from gray to the palest blue, weak sunshine winking through the clouds.

She peered around her, fearful that word of Essie’s death had got out somehow, and that she was to blame. She imagined photographers, inconsolable fans dressed as Georgia Rory, and chic people from the literary industry milling around, pretending to look at gravestones with their cameras and phones hidden under their scarves. But there was only a family of mourners at the far end of the yard, and her breathing grew easier.

More than ten minutes passed before Anthony joined her. Liv thought he might apologize for keeping her waiting, but he was quiet and his eyes were downcast.

As they walked toward the gates together, the sound of their feet on the gravel path was as loud as pistol shots.

When Liv closed the gates behind her, she shivered, feeling numb. “What should we do now?” she said. “Find a pub and raise a glass to Essie?”

Anthony’s face was ashen, and he checked his watch. “I need to get back to work.”

“Oh, okay.” The ending to the funeral didn’t feel right, a full stop when it should be a comma. Liv waited, hoping he’d reconsidered Essie’s very strange request and was going to admit it was ridiculous.

Instead, he took out his phone. “I’ll call you a taxi,” he said. “We’ll speak about your new role soon.”

He returned to his own car and Liv stamped her feet to warm them up.

As Anthony drove away, she saw him dab his nose with his handkerchief and questions ricocheted inside her head.

Why wouldn’t Essie want more for herself than this?