Tomorrow’s funeral would require all the strength she could muster.

‘Jack, I think I’ll have an early night, love.’

‘Aw no, are you not coming back?’

She smiled at him and gave him a big hug. ‘No, sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow at the church. You and your dad are bearers, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

They both looked down, weary with heartbreak, nothing left to say.

‘Night, Aunty Lana,’ whispered Jack.

And Lana smiled, willing back tears and turning in the opposite direction towards her B&B.

50

Judith

She wanted to walk to the church. It wasn’t as if Catrin didn’t have enough loved ones to surround her in the funeral car. Plus she had a thing about hearses.

‘You’ll sit by us in the service though, won’t you?’ whispered Huw Kelly before she left. ‘You and Lana. We’ll need you up there.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she whispered back.

She hugged Gareth and Jack, both smart in their dark suits and black ties, Jack at ease in his, Gareth like a fish out of water in his. ‘You’ll do him proud,’ she said, trying to smile, and she left the house to head to St Theodore’s.

She chose to go the long way round, avoiding the little lane which ran along the side of the church. Decades earlier, the three of them would hide down there, sneaking illicit cider and cigarettes. She couldn’t bear any more nostalgia today. Her heart was already too heavy, weighed down with loss and the searing pain of grief.

Approaching the corner where the main street met Bessemer Place, she saw several figures dressed in black heading for the church – some solitary, some in couples, some in groups, all unified in their loss. The service would no doubt be packed and Judith’s heart lurched like a stalled engine at the prospect of what lay ahead.

And then she saw her. Unavoidable, of course. There was no point in hiding.

‘Lana.’

‘Hey Jude,’ she replied, and Judith remembered sadly that this used to be a little Beatles-related joke between them. But no one was laughing now. They’d spoken occasionally during the past week, of course, about practicalities and arrangements. Though only when they had to and in short, polite exchanges. The only way they knew how to communicate these days. Even Sol’s death hadn’t changed that.

Standing a couple of feet apart, uncertainty fizzled between them, and they hesitated on the verge of a hug before both deciding against it.

‘Can’t believe it’s happening, can you?’ asked Lana, her voice shaking as she fumbled in her bag for a small bottle of Rescue Remedy and swigged back its contents like whisky.

Hiding her disapproval, Judith said, ‘The family wants us down the front.’

‘Oh Christ, I’m not sure I can handle that …’ replied Lana, panicking. ‘So close to the coffin and … I’m just not very good with—’

‘Today’s not about you though, is it, Lana?’ Judith snapped, a reflex action. ‘It’s about Catrin.’

Awkwardness cracked between them like a pane of breaking glass. God, how she wished she was somewhere else. Then suddenly Lana pulled off the black silk wrap that was draped over her shoulders and rapidly flapped the neckline of her dress. ‘Bloody hot flushes,’ she mumbled.