Patricia ignored him, preening herself as she continued, ‘You thought you could stand in my way, did you? That you could dictate to me what I can and can’t do?’

‘No, that’s blatantly not true.’

‘Don’t lie to me, you little rat.’

‘Let’s go, Jude,’ said Gareth, who refused to let his wife be bullied by his vicious mother-in-law. This was not a solvable situation.

As they reached the door, Adrian said, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing we wanted to tell you.’ He looked at Patricia, who picked up his cue.

‘Yes,’ she said, with a malevolent smile Judith hadn’t witnessed in many years. ‘I wanted to show you this.’ And with that, she unclasped her hands, and thrust the left one triumphantly at her daughter, displaying a cheap solitaire ring on her fourth finger, which was too tight and dug into the flesh.

‘Jesus,’ whispered Gareth.

‘Patricia and I are getting married,’ said Adrian, jutting out his jaw in defiance.

‘Next May!’ added Patricia. ‘So stick that in your pipe.’

55

Gareth

He’d brought an elegant festive wreath with him today, comprising holly and mistletoe and ivy and fir. With Christmas just two days away now, the magnolia shivered in the frost-tinted sunshine, its unformed buds a twinkle in the eye of its silent branches.

After brushing away a few stray leaves and winter twigs, Gareth laid the arrangement upon the tiny grave before taking out his little whisky flask and drinking a generous, body-warming mouthful. Several rows away from where he stood lay Solomon’s grave, and even from this distance he could see it was still bedecked in floral tributes. It’d been six months now and Gareth missed him far more than he could have ever imagined.

When he’d arrived, he’d seen a woman reading Sol’s headstone, wearing big sunglasses but wrapped up warm against the biting wind that even the bright sunshine failed to counter. They’d not acknowledged each other, though in fairness they were too far apart to make eye contact, and he was glad of this. Over the years he’d learned that there was a strange respect afforded to fellow mourners attending graves in the same vicinity; if he did ever pass anyone, he usually just nodded, a tacit registering of mutual sorrow. Rarely did anyone make conversation in the cemetery. It felt vulgar somehow.

Gareth took another gulp of whisky, glad of its warmth and cheer.

‘So your grandmother is up to her old tricks again, Georgie.’ He’d never told Judith about his secret name for their little girl – Georgie – because it felt like cheating, developing a fatherly nickname for a baby he’d only known for a day. ‘I’ve just left your mother now at your Aunty Catrin’s, telling her all about it. We’ve had lawyers and social workers and doctors and all sorts involved, it’s been a right pain in the neck, I tell you. And now she’s gone and got engaged! To a thirty-six-year-old! She really is a piece of work, that woman. Your grandmother, that is, not your mother.’ He smiled. ‘I think Cat likes to hear all the details – gives her something else to focus on, I guess. She’s a lot better than she was. Time’s a healer an’ all that.’