Once again there were news cameras and photographers. Jeannie was subtle with the photos she took for the historical record but Nancy bristled when she saw us arrive. She pulled the camera she’d been using at the refuge from her capacious bag. The flash made Caleb jump. Whispers began and other cameras turned in our direction.

‘Delete the photo, please,’ I said, feeling like I was talking to a student.

‘You’ll want this later,’ Nancy said. ‘You can prove Caleb cared enough to pay his respects.’

Harmony saw our distress and reacted badly, scowling at Nancy. ‘You heard Ms Wharton,’ she said. ‘Delete the fucking photo.’

Nancy took a shocked breath, staring like she expected me to take over. She had spent a lot of time frowning at Caleb’s piercings. I stared back. Finally, she pressed a few buttons on her phone and, hopefully, removed the file. Then she walked into the church. Caleb followed soon after.

I stood, catching my breath. The churchyard, where tombstones were scattered as haphazardly as a pubescent mouth of crooked teeth, would soon have a clutch of new graves. The council had voted to plant a rose bush on each. Money for their maintenance would be included in annual budgets. The banality was one more unbearable thing.

‘Will Caleb be arrested?’ A teenaged neighbour was shushed by his mother. Other people stared or looked away. I entered the church.

Stephen already sat beside Caleb, trying to look stoic. He rested his hands on his knees. A remnant of smoke had wafted in as if to join proceedings and in the smoky semi-darkness, Stephen’s black suit and white shirt appeared dark grey and light grey, like he wasn’t completely there. Shallow lines circled his eyes and deeper grooves sliced skin around his mouth. Hints of silver in his hair spread like greying was a virus. Ivy hadn’t come, so we sat together like a family. I touched Stephen’s sleeve. We had been married in this church. Everything between us since then, every joy and sorrow, had then waited offstage, unseen and unknown. Ivy had been at school on the other side of Melbourne. Cells that would become Caleb were still to be loved into existence. Now, fringe over one tearless eye, Caleb stared at floral tributes on the altar. I’d never brought him to church. Just how foreign was this place to him? Foreign as death should have been.

Penelope arrived, slim form encased in a conservative black dress intended for an older woman. She’d darkened her hair to violet as if this were part of a mourning ritual, and carried two wreaths of white flowers, to leave on the altar. I was acutely aware of Caleb’s agonised eyes following this strange girl.