Marnie, who had not known such a thing was expected of her, had shaken her head.

‘Then we’ll go together,’ Alice said.

This was typical Alice. She was the only person ever to encourage Marnie to talk about her mother. Everyone else tried not to talk about her, but for Alice, Denise wasn’t a difficult or painful subject. She teased little anecdotes from Marnie, stories from her early childhood that Marnie had forgotten. Between them, they gave new life to memories; they kept Denise alive. This was a huge relief for Marnie, who had been so afraid of forgetting.

Alice gave Marnie a notebook and encouraged her to write and draw in it. She taught her how to press flowers. They worked together on the book, which was dedicated entirely to Denise. Soon it was full of little poems and pictures and wafer-thin buttercups; a small white feather, a list of the books that Denise had read to Marnie.

Alice and Marnie went together to the churchyard and found the grave. It wasn’t hard; it was one of the newer ones. The earth on top of it was still mounded.

Last time she was there, at Denise’s funeral, Marnie hadn’t dared look into the hole. She had hung back, behind the bodies of the adults, dressed in black; horrified that this was really where they were going to put her mother. It had seemed ridiculous and obscene.

Going back, with Alice holding her hand, it hadn’t felt frightening at all.

Denise’s grave was quiet and green, covered over with new grass, buttercups, clover and daisies. Butterflies and bees buzzed around. A book was propped against the wooden marker at its head; a compilation of poems.

‘Who put the book there?’ Alice asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Mummy liked that book.’

‘She liked poetry?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s OK then. That’s a nice gesture. It must have been someone who knew her well.’

It was sunny in the churchyard. In the far corner, an old man in overalls was filling a watering can from a tap. A robin perched on a gravestone and scratched its head with its foot. Marnie had expected to feel sad or scared but she didn’t. She was calm.

Alice had brought some lilies. She stood for a long time looking down at the grave with the flowers in her hands. She was wearing her yellow sundress and a matching headband. Marnie had made an effort too. Alice had done her hair, and Marnie was wearing one of Alice’s shirts over her shorts, and her mother’s locket.

After a while, Alice said: ‘Wait here.’