A funeral, with the invitations, the venue, the flowers, the refreshments, is the stunted shadow of a wedding. The morning of Sal’s funeral was incongruously sunny. Brownish remnants of snow clung to kerbs, melting muddily into the drain. Kathleen, a trim, attractive woman in her late fifties, had come up a few days before to help give the house a last once-over, and pick out the outfit Sal would be dressed in: the same periwinkle blue suit she’d worn to Maraid’s wedding and Roisin’s divorce party. Jenny could hear her talking to herself quietly – ‘Grace and Dignity – come on Kath, Grace and Dignity!’ and every now and then stifling a sob.

The two women sat in the shining house waiting for the cars to arrive. The smoke from Kathleen’s cigarette curled into the lemon-scented kitchen. Claudine padded about, her fur glossier, her eye almost healed.

‘What you going to do with the cat then?’ Kathleen asked.

Jenny stroked Claudine’s ears. ‘Keep her. She’s nearly better now.’

‘Did you put the wine and beer in the fridge?’

Jenny wandered to the door and leaned against it. ‘I did, but I’m not sure people’ll be drinking.’

‘People expect a drink after a funeral,’ Kathleen said firmly. ‘I’ve done more funerals than you, so I know. They need a bit of help relaxing. Helps the grieving process. And anyway,’ she looked up, ‘we’re Irish, aren’t we? The Irish love a drink at a funeral.’

‘We’re not Irish,’ Jenny muttered.

Kathleen thought about that. ‘Well, my nan was. And your auntie Miriam’s mum was.’ Kathleen squinted through her cigarette smoke. ‘I think?’

‘Miriam’s not my real auntie though.’

‘Oh, is she not? Well…’ Kathleen took her cigarette to the open door, stubbed it out on the doorstep and immediately lit another. ‘Everyone’s a bit Irish, aren’t they?’

People arrived just as the hearse did. The coffin was all but obscured by a huge arrangement of yellow chrysanthemums spelling out ‘SAL’. Kathleen nodded with approval at her own good taste. Then she went forward, clutching at the hands of her daughters, before moving on graciously to welcome those she didn’t know – Mrs Mondesir, frail and uncertain; Freddie who arrived with his parents, Ruth and Graham; Andreena; Mrs Hurst who Sal had worked for. Kathleen was right, she did know more about funerals and, under her expert eye, everyone was introduced, made to feel welcome and ushered back into their own cars within a few minutes, with none of the scattered, self-conscious small talk that Jenny had so dreaded.

It was only when she climbed into the car that she realised just how much this was costing Kathleen; she slumped into tearful anxiety, muttering: ‘Grace and dignity, grace and dignity’ under her breath. It was somehow horrifying to see her reduced to this state. She took Jenny’s hand, squeezed it too tightly. ‘You’re a good girl, Jen.’

‘I’m not good enough,’ Jenny murmured, looking out of the window. ‘I wish I hadn’t left her that night. I’ll never forgive myself for that.’

Kathleen gave an almighty sniff and fumbled in her bag for a tissue. ‘What’s done is done.’ She blew her nose. ‘She was so proud of you. So proud.’ She gave a tiny nod. ‘And I’m proud of you too.’

It was the nicest thing Kathleen had ever said to her. It was probably the nicest thing she’d ever said to anyone.

By the time they reached the church, Kathleen had recovered somewhat; it was Jenny who needed the support as she walked down the aisle following the coffin, strangely small, carried by the undertaker’s men, who smelled ever so slightly unwashed.

Kathleen ushered her into the first pew. Freddie, sitting just behind her, dropped a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she clung to his fingers, trying to control her breathing, trying to calm down. She had to. She was giving the eulogy. She’d been up most of the night, trying to write it, but she still only had partial notes and no real idea of its structure. There was one reading – a poem about dancing and joy and eternity – read in a self-conscious monotone by Maraid. Then, after the obligatory hymn, pitched too impossibly high for anyone to sing it well, Jenny stood and walked slowly to the altar.

For a second or two, she gazed at the coffin. Blond wood, nickel-plated handles and, inside, she knew, a blue frilled satin lining. Sal would be nestled in there, blue on blue. Had they put some make-up on her? Had they brushed her hair? Did they do that in this country if it was a closed coffin? Jenny didn’t know. She’d been asked if she wanted to ‘view the body’ at the undertakers, but she’d refused. Kathleen had, but it had upset her too much to talk about. Now, in front of all these people, that was all Jenny could think about. What did she look like in there? Was her neck still twisted? Her nose still bloody?

Jenny cleared her throat in the quiet and willed her brain to stop, just stop. The notes quivered in her hand. She began, and her voice sounded rusty, rarely used.

‘My mum, Sally Holloway, was more than a mum to me. She was my friend.’ Jenny stopped then, looked down and closed her eyes. Freddie half rose anxiously. The mourners watched uncomfortably as Jenny swallowed hard, looked at the coffin and muttered something to herself. Then she smiled tightly, and said: ‘I’m sorry, I’m nervous.’ There was a small pulse of polite sympathy from the crowd.

‘Let me start again. I have these notes, but I don’t need them. I know what I want to say; I just hope I can say it well,’ she said more clearly, more forcefully. ‘My mum was only nineteen when she had me. She had plans to go to college, and maybe even university. She wanted to become a nurse, but then I came along, and she had to give them up. She loved me enough to give them up. It could be said that if it wasn’t for me, she’d have had a very different life. Probably a happier one.’ Andreena made a sad growling sound, and several people shook their heads. ‘Only a week ago, we were talking about it. I asked her if – well, not if she was sorry she’d had me, but, if circumstances had been different…? She shut me down right away.’ Jenny swallowed, recollecting Sal’s words. ‘She said “Never EVER think that you weren’t meant to be.” She said: “We’re a unit. A team.”’

Kathleen at the front sobbed, and said quietly: ‘I can hear her say that.’

‘And she told me she loved me.’ Jenny looked at the coffin. ‘Not that there was ever a doubt in my mind about that. As a family, we were never short on love. She always put me first, even if it meant moving away from the city she loved, her closest friends and family. She-she missed you all, so much’. She looked directly at Kathleen. ‘She loved you all so much.’ Now Jen, too, began to cry. She wobbled on her heels and put one hand on the coffin to steady herself. Chrysanthemums shook, and Freddie half rose again, ready to catch her if she fell, but then she opened her eyes again, smiled at a late arrival, a man, tall, dark, in a sober grey suit, standing at the back of the church, and became steadier.

‘And so, when I think about Mum, I think about her strength, not her weakness. I want you all to think of her like that, too. I think about her laugh, her silly sense of humour. I think about watching old movies with her. I think about us dancing to the radio; playing on the beach at Scarborough; the time I made a mud pie in nursery and she actually ate a couple of mouthfuls to make me happy. And I think about how brave she was, how resilient, despite everything.’ Jenny paused then. She looked at the ground. ‘On the night she died, we went through some old photos. I told her that she didn’t look any different to that beautiful girl with the baby. I told her she was my best friend.’ Now her voice caught. She managed the last sentence through hitching breaths. ‘I’m so glad that I told her that. I’m so glad she got to hear that. Because,’ she touched the coffin with one shaking hand, ‘it’s true, Mum. And it always will be.’

Kathleen, buttressed by Roisin and Maraid, was sobbing loudly now. Jenny wavered on the altar, as if not quite knowing what to do next. Freddie sped up the aisle and gently took her elbow, and led her back to her seat.

As the coffin made its jerky progress back to the hearse, ‘The Wonder of You’ boomed too suddenly from the church speakers. Kathleen burst into fresh sobs. ‘Oh, she loved that song!’ and Jenny, her face drained of colour and expression, moved to the door. People stopped her to murmur sympathy as she passed by, her half-closed eyes swollen with tears and exhaustion.

Outside in the car park, the undertaker, unctuous and stooped, presented himself to her. A huge port wine birthmark stained his face.

‘A very loved woman,’ he intoned.

‘She was. Thank you,’ Jenny murmured.

He smiled, took her hand. She felt the business card in her palm.

Hurton and Sons: We pride ourselves on our compassionate and caring manner. Ample parking at rear.

‘Think of us next time.’ The birthmark rippled when he spoke, like paint bubbling in heat.

‘What?’ Jenny said sharply.

People stared.

‘If you’ve been happy with our service, think about us next time.’ The servile smirk was still there, but looked a little more fragile.

‘Why? D’you think anyone else in my family’s going to die soon? You got inside information or something?’ Jenny hissed, with sudden, sharp, rage.

Then Andreena muscled her way over, and he melted away like a ghoul.

Jenny opened her palm and showed her the card. ‘Touting for more business,’ she smiled grimly.

‘Let me go and find him, I’ll tear a strip off him—’

‘No, Dree, it’s OK.’ Jenny’s sudden fury seemed to have exhausted her even more. ‘I’ll make a complaint later or something.’

‘But—’

‘No, really, Dree, I can’t cope with any drama. It’s just—’ She put one vague hand out, and let it drop.

‘You’re shaking, are you cold?’ The man who had been hovering at the back of the church suddenly appeared. ‘Here, take this.’ He took off his jacket, warm and smelling of a sharp tangy aftershave, and draped it around her shoulders.

Andreena’s face underwent one of her lightning quick changes. Anger morphed into soft appreciation.

‘Oh, Dree, this is David.’ Jenny’s face coloured a little. ‘It was David who saw me walking back, on, you know, that night. He’s the one that told the police.’

David put out his hand. Firm handshake. ‘Nicetomeetyou.’

Andreena looked hard at him. Approval flowed from her. ‘So kind of you to think of our Jenny! So good of you to come to pay your respects!’

Freddie, who had been talking to Kathleen, hurried over. ‘What was that about?’

Jenny showed him the card curled up in her palm. ‘They “pride themselves on their caring and compassionate service.”’

‘You’re kidding?’ Freddie pinkened.

‘David – this is my best friend, Freddie. I mentioned him, didn’t I? Fred, this is David. He’s my alibi.’ She laughed a little wildly. Her knees buckled. David and Freddie exchanged an anxious glance.

‘Sit down.’ Freddie took her by the elbow and led her to a memorialised bench carved in the shape of a butterfly. The others gathered around, too. ‘Listen, do you really want people coming back to the house? Won’t that be a bit much?’

‘Oh, no,’ Jenny told him. ‘It’s a wake. And we’re Irish, didn’t you know?’

Back at the house, guests nosed politely around the funeral – ‘Good service’; ‘Lovely send-off’; ‘Very dignified’ – but no one stayed long.

Mrs Mondesir was the first to leave – she had to get back to feed the dog; Mrs Hurst had to go back to work; Freddie’s parents consoled Kathleen before Roisin and Maraid, in their brusque way, ordered a taxi to take them all back to the station. Kathleen clung to Jenny in the front garden, and pressed papery lips to her cheek. ‘Grace and dignity. It’s how she would’ve liked us to behave. You take care, my love.’ Andreena, too, had to get back to look after her own children and left after embracing everyone – including David – telling them that they would all be in her prayers. Soon, only Freddie, David and Jenny remained, sitting at the scrubbed clean kitchen table.

‘It was OK, wasn’t it?’ she asked them.

‘You did brilliantly,’ Freddie told her. ‘The eulogy, everything.’

‘It’s the first funeral I’ve ever been to,’ she told them. ‘ You don’t know about these things, do you, until you have to do them. You don’t know if you’re doing the right thing?’

‘It was very moving,’ David said.

‘I have an idea.’ Freddie picked up an unopened bottle of whisky from the work surface. ‘A toast. To Sal!’ They all stood.

‘To Sal,’ echoed David.

‘To Mum,’ whispered Jenny; downed her drink, gagged. ‘God, it tastes like it’s been made in a toilet! Who brought this?’

‘I think Kathleen did.’ Freddie winced and looked at the label. ‘Lidl’s finest.’

‘You know what? Roisin works at Lidl. I bet she lifted it.’ She shook her head. ‘God, that says it all, really. Drinking stolen gut-rot at a funeral. Weirdly, that’s made me feel better.’ She smiled tiredly, ruefully, at them both. Claudine trotted into the kitchen and gave a cracked miaow.

‘She’s braver now everyone’s left,’ Jenny said. ‘Come on, darling, let’s get you fed.’ She opened a pouch of food, while Freddie picked up the whisky bottle, poured it down the sink, and made a pot of tea instead.

‘Thanks for coming; you didn’t have to, you know,’ Jenny was telling David.

‘I wanted to. I wanted to help as much as I could—’

Jenny smiled and flushed pink. Freddie waded into the awkward pause.

‘So you guys went to school together?’

‘Well, briefly. Jenny was in my form room, but we didn’t really know each other. And then I left the school soon after.’

‘Oh that makes sense. I didn’t go there until Sixth Form, so I suppose that’s why we didn’t meet.’ Freddie told him.

‘Me and Fred did English A level together.’ Jenny smiled fondly at Freddie. ‘We bonded over a shared love of A Streetcar Named Desire.’

‘Well, a shared love of Marlon Brando, to be honest. And we both obsessed about James Dean, and we both read Sylvia Plath. There hadn’t been much of that at St Columbus – that’s where I was before. All boys. A lot of rugby.’ Freddie winced. ‘So, how come you didn’t go to Sixth Form?’

David was sitting stiffly upright, tense, jaw clenched. He looked as if he was having a mute, urgent conversation with himself. ‘Um, well, I… had a stroke when I was sixteen. Just before GCSEs,’ he answered eventually, through tight lips.

‘Oh my god, David, I’m sorry! I—’ Freddie said.

David’s lips relaxed into a smile and he waved a gentle hand. ‘No, don’t worry. It’s a long time ago, and I’m fine now. I don’t generally talk about it, that’s all. I had a hole in my heart, undiagnosed, from birth. So I had to have surgery, then rehabilitation, so I lost a lot of time. Eventually I went to boarding school did my GCSEs and A levels in two years so I wouldn’t be going to university too late.’

‘Wow,’ Freddie said, ‘GCSE’s and A levels in two years? That must’ve been harsh?’

‘I’m a quick study.’ David smiled.

‘So what boarding school did you go to? St Columbus took boarders; wouldn’t it be weird if we’d, like, effectively swapped schools? Was it St Columbus?’

‘No. Hazlewood. It was called Hazlewood School, but I think it’s closed down or merged with somewhere else now,’ David answered. ‘Then I went to Durham University—’

‘Where’s Claudine got to?’ Jenny asked. ‘Fred? She didn’t go out, did she? I’m meant to keep her in.’

‘No, she’s in the living room, tearing at the carpet again. So, Durham? I knew someone who went there. Ryan Needham? He did Anthropology, I think,’ Freddie said.

‘She’s limping. Look, Fred – Claudine’s limping, don’t you think?’ Jenny got up, crossed the room anxiously.

‘No, she looks fine to me. So, Ryan – did you ever meet him?’

‘Yes, I know Ryan.’ David smiled again. All straight, white teeth.

‘That’s so weird!’ Freddie said. ‘Is he, like, a really good friend of yours? If so, it’s best to let you know that Jenny hates him.’

‘I don’t hate him. I don’t know him.’ Jenny came back into the room with Claudine in her arms. ‘I just don’t think he was very good for you, that’s all.’ She looked at David, her face serious. ‘He-he wasn’t honest.’

There was an awkward pause. ‘She’s more protective of me that I am of myself,’ Freddie told David. ‘Anyway, it was nothing. Facebook, that’s all. We were messaging for a few months a while ago but we never managed to meet up. At least now I know he wasn’t a catfish or something.’

‘Oh no. Ryan’s very real.’ David’s forehead puckered. ‘Do you want me to put you back in touch? I mean—’

‘No,’ Jenny interrupted. ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to see you go through that again, Fred.’

‘See what I mean? She’s like a Tiger Mom. Protective. Sheathe your claws, Jen, that’s all over with. I think some things just aren’t meant to be,’ Freddie said with finality.

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think it was his loss. Ryan is… he’s not very constant if you know what I mean,’ David continued seriously. ‘Like Jenny said, he’s not a very trustworthy person.’

There was something definitely special about David, Freddie thought. He was also very attractive in a terribly British, David Niven, sort of way. ‘So, what’s Ryan doing now?’

‘Fred—’ Jenny warned.

‘He’s in America. I was coming back from dropping him off at the airport when I saw Jenny, you know, that night.’

Freddie shook his head. ‘So weird. Spooky.’

Jenny refilled everyone’s cup. ‘David looks after his mother, too.’

‘Yes, when Mum took a turn for the worse I moved back. My father died last year and there was no one to look after her, so… I’m lucky, in that there’s enough money for me to be able to just stop working for a while. I suppose I could have got nurses, or even put her in residential care, but I just…’ He opened one palm, and shrugged.

‘Couldn’t do it,’ Freddie said softly.

‘No.’ His face pinched a little, a sadness settled. ‘But that’s not really an appropriate thing to be talking about today, is it? I’m sorry.’ He smiled at Jenny, at Freddie. His voice was soft. ‘I really have to get back, actually. I’m very aware that you’re tired, and probably just want the place to yourself now.’ He put one hand up to stop Jenny’s objection. ‘But if you need help with anything, or just want a coffee and a chat, well, you have my number?’ He hesitated. ‘Maybe it would be OK if I called you in a few days?’ A nervous sheen of sweat shone on his top lip.

‘No, I mean, yes, that’d be fine!’ Jenny, too, seemed shy.

‘Good. That’s good.’ He seemed mightily relieved. Then he shook both their hands – a charmingly old-fashioned gesture, Freddie thought – and left.

Freddie managed to wait until he was out of earshot before saying: ‘God, there’s not many men about like him, are there?’

‘No. He’s very nice.’ David leaving seemed to have taken all the life out of her. Even her clothes seemed to droop with exhaustion.

‘The Ryan thing? That’s so strange…’

‘Fred, please don’t read too much into that, I’ll worry about you.’

‘Well don’t. I’m not putting myself through that again, I promise.’ He took her hand. ‘You’re knackered. Look, let’s go back to my parents’ tonight. I think you might need a break from this house.’

‘No. No, I’m OK. It’s probably best if I’m by myself.’ Her eyes closed slowly again, and she stifled a yawn.

‘I’m not going to just leave you here—’

‘Fred, really. To be honest, I’d quite like to be on my own. If I’m with people, I know I’ll feel weird, like I have to talk about things, and… I don’t want to feel like I’m being rude—’

‘No, no, absolutely, I get it. I’ll call tomorrow, OK?’ He pulled her in for a hug. ‘You’ve done amazingly well today. Amazingly.’

‘Thanks, darling.’

‘Keep your good eye on her,’ he commanded Claudine. Then he hugged Jenny again.

‘I love you, Jen,’ he told her.

‘Love you too.’ She sighed.