Miles takes a sip and wriggles uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Do you know what, I’d rather have flat.’

Given the circumstances does he find Moët and Chandon too celebratory? He places his champagne on the mantelpiece and walks to the wine fridge behind the curved mock Georgian cupboard in the corner. He rummages about until he finds a bottle of Viognier. He pours a third of a bottle into an extra-large glass.

‘Cheers.’

He takes two large gulps of Viognier and necks half his glass. I have never seen him drinking like this. His eyes are empty. His face is red.

‘So,’ he says. ‘Why would Mum poison herself, and not tell us she was ill and needed support and help?’

I shake my head. I do not know what to say.

‘Why would she do something as dreadful as killing herself and setting you up for it? I am so shocked, my mind can hardly focus. It is as if the ground I walk on has been pulled from under me and I don’t know how to move forwards anymore.’

‘Miles, don’t make me say it.’

He turns his empty eyes towards me. ‘Don’t make you say what?’

‘I told you so.’

His body bends. He winces as if I have punched him in the stomach.

‘I know you did.’ He bangs his wine glass onto the coffee table, stands up and walks towards me. He stands in front of me, bereft. Devastated. ‘Hold me, Saffron.’

I stand up and step towards him. He pulls me against him. We cling to one another like ivy around a tree trunk, clasping, burrowing, digging for comfort. I feel the vibration of sobs building in the back of his throat.

‘I’m sorry, Saffron, for not believing you.’

These words, so long in coming, fill me with warmth. They contort to jubilation, which I suppress. Jubilation is too much. All I want is peace. Peace to live my life with the man I love; without your interference, Caprice.

‘It was hard for you. She was your mother. You loved her.’

His body trembles against mine. ‘What has happened is impossible to accept. It has shattered all my perceptions of my family life. Made my past a lie. I will never be able to come to terms with it.’

‘You will, Miles. Together we will come through this. Together we can come through anything.’

163

Hayley

Over a hundred people are at Caprice’s funeral. The ancient church is swathed in a moving mass of people dressed in black. School gate mums. Bridge club. BPC. Your university friends. Aiden’s business associates. Saffron’s colleagues, Ted and Julie. School friends. Past neighbours. Even some people from the ‘look-at-me’ houses down the road have turned up to pay their respects. The turnout comes as a surprise, but I wonder how genuine their feelings are. I suspect most people have come to support you, Saffron and Aiden.