Judith fought the urge to smile, an alien grain of affection for her old friend lodging itself unexpectedly in her heart. She rustled in her bag and took out a Spanish-style fan, mumbling, ‘Here y’are, borrow this.’

‘Cheers,’ said Lana, flicking it open with flamencan flair and cooling herself in its welcome breeze. A minute later the flush had passed.

‘Shall we go in then?’ asked Judith tentatively.

‘Yes,’ said Lana as she held Judith’s gaze. ‘We can do this. Can’t we?’

51

Catrin

She noticed irrelevant details. Like the fraying hem on Father O’Leary’s cassock. And the foreign wording of the prayers – O Lamb of God, That Takest Away the Sins of the World, Grant Us Thy Peace … Why do they call Jesus a lamb? she wondered. And is he a Welsh lamb? A spring lamb? A lamb chop?

Lamb.

Lam-B.

Why is there a ‘b’ at the end of the word ‘lamb’?

And for some reason, she found this amusing – and first she smiled, then she tittered, then she giggled, and then she guffawed, and then she was weeping with laughter and people were staring at her and someone was saying something – was it Solomon’s brother? he was up there in front of them all, reading out words from pieces of paper … and everyone carried on staring at her, because she was laughing and this was an inappropriate response and she was being an irresponsible adult at an inappropriate time, and she felt Lana’s arms around her and Judith holding her hand, telling her she can say whatever she wants and laugh as loud as she wants and do whatever feels right because they will hold her safe – ‘nothing you do is wrong, babe,’ Lana said to her and then Judith whispered, ‘you can stand up and flash your boobs at Father O’Leary if you want,’ and this made her laugh even more, until the laughing flipped over into tears and the tears flipped over into screaming and all the while they held her tight.

Her two best friends in the world.

And the people put him into the ground, and still they held her tight.

And she thought about Gwynnie, her cadaver at med school, and at his graveside she whispered, ‘you’re a cadaver now, Solomon,’ whilst Father O’Leary said something quick and fast about dust and ashes and the Father’s house having many rooms, and Solomon’s mother was weeping and throwing roses on to the coffin, and everyone looked at her, prompting her to do the same, to throw a rose into the ground, but she couldn’t do it, because the rose she was holding was pretty and so she clutched it in her hand.

She’d take it home and give it to Sol.

No, she wouldn’t.

Because Sol wasn’t there any more.

And still they held her tight.

Her two best friends in the world.

52

Judith

Never had she been so relieved to get home. She’d been away for three weeks and her exhaustion was palpable. Work had been really understanding, but she knew they were struggling without her and in fact she relished the thought of going back the next day and restoring some boring order into her life. She’d also found it difficult being away from Gareth for so long. Although he’d been there for the funeral and the weekend before it, the rest of the time he’d had to stay home and she’d missed his stoicism, his gentle temperament and grounding spirit.