During the two days before the funeral, Catrin helped out around the house – mainly with childcare, looking after Danoulla’s baby boy Haris, who was only a couple of months older than Romy. He had a similar serene nature to Romy and it made Catrin miss her even more. But it also made her appreciate her even more, Gareth’s words ringing clear in her head.

Despite the sorrow in the house, there was also an overwhelming air of celebration, a coming-together, perhaps precipitated by the hysteria of bereavement. Judith leant heavily on Catrin for support during those forty-eight hours, often choosing her company over anyone else’s, including Jack, who’d grieved openly with his Cypriot family and found the process very healing.

‘It’s much healthier, Mum,’ he’d told her. ‘Get it out of your system an’ all that.’

‘Each to their own, Jack,’ Judith had replied. And Cat could see him gently back away from his mother, letting her stay safe in her own space.

The funeral was at midday, in the little church in Kakopetria, the same church where George and Cleoniki had been married nearly eighteen years previously. Catrin walked with Judith and the rest of the family in a cortège behind the coffin, the glorious sunshine attempting to cheer their souls en route. Processing along the little road to the church, they were accompanied by the solemn toll of its bell. Outside, some mourners were waiting, their heads bowed and silent; inside, the church was packed and bursting with sorrow.

Although she couldn’t understand the language of the service, Catrin found the beautiful sounds of the Ancient Greek strangely comforting and mesmeric. As part of the ceremony, they were invited to approach and kiss the coffin and the icon held next to it by the priest. Catrin could see that Judith kept her father’s backgammon dice in her hand, turning them incessantly and seeking comfort from the hard edges of the small cubes.

At the conclusion of the service, the family lined up to receive condolences from the mourners. Judith grabbed Catrin’s hand and asked her to stand with her.

‘But I’m not family, Jude!’ Cat whispered urgently.

‘I don’t care,’ Jude said, her voice shaking. ‘I need you with me.’

Not wishing to upset her further, but feeling like a cuckoo in the nest, Catrin compromised by standing just behind her, not wanting to displace Jack or Gareth and certainly not wanting to step on the toes of Cleo or Sofia and the rest of the family. The mourners streamed past, shedding more tears, kissing cheeks, offering sympathy and openly, unashamedly weeping. Judith smiled back politely with stateswoman-like dignity and elegance.

And then it happened.

Confusion and shock, as if in slow motion, began to replace the dignity and elegance. It took several seconds for Judith to process the sight before her, to compute what was happening, and when she did, she stood there in utter disbelief.

Lana.

Wearing an expensive dress. Crying. And holding out her arms, inviting embrace and offering condolence.