There were few people in the cold hall of the crematorium that afternoon: a couple of the neighbours who had come to pay their last respects and one of the carers from the nursing home who had not-so-secretly always been Gillian’s favourite, despite her protestations to the contrary. There was Chloe and Scott, who had kept Alex company all morning, trying to distract her with talk of everyday, mundane topics. Then there was Harry, who sat at the back of the room but whose presence alone was enough to confirm to Alex that the friendship between them was fully restored. Despite the tensions of the previous few weeks, she would be sad to see him go.

Listening to the words of the sermon as they rose from the front of the room like hazy smoke that blurred her vision, Alex thought it strange that after death a person seemed to gain a new character. She almost didn’t recognise the woman being described by the white-collared man who had never even known her. Gillian hadn’t been the loving, patient woman the priest portrayed with his well-rehearsed words; he made her sound like some sort of Mother Teresa figure. She hadn’t been a bad woman either. She had just been normal.

But no one wanted to celebrate normal. No one wanted to mourn its loss.

The crematorium was a depressing place, though Alex realised that was the point. The hard wooden benches, the cold stone floor; the black curtains that hung around her mother’s coffin like the Grim Reaper’s cloak, enveloping Gillian in an irreversible fate: here, there was no distraction from the harsh realities of death. ‘Take comfort from the knowledge that our dear friend Gillian is no longer in pain. Her suffering has been eased by her passing, though we may for some time to come feel as though that pain has been transferred to us in our grief.’

From a distance, the words probably sounded quite nice. There, at the front of the room, their insincerity felt tangible. Alex wondered for a moment whether she might stand up and say something, to contradict the priest, but acceptance had suddenly become a far preferable option. She accepted that this was the right way to say goodbye to her mother. The only way she would find peace with their relationship was to forgive her.

She wondered if – before it had been too late – her mother had also found it in herself to forgive her.

The readings ended and the congregation watched as Gillian’s coffin was lowered before disappearing from view. She felt a hand on hers, cold despite the heat outside the hall, and Chloe’s fingers closed gently around her own. ‘I’m OK,’ she told her.

Outside, they gathered in awkward clusters at the side of the small building. The next funeral party had already arrived, a growing sea of short-sleeved black shirts and sombre summer dresses spilling through the gates and flooding the car park. This new group eyed Alex’s as though they had invaded their mourning; as though their grief couldn’t possibly match up, given how few of them there were.

There was no wake to attend. No warm beer and barely filled sandwiches with curled-up corners. Death didn’t seem something to be celebrated, so Alex stood there politely accepting well-intended platitudes from the handful of people who had taken the day off work – cancelling their daily routines in order to be there – while longing for the comfort of her own living room; her own bed.

Embarrassment crept into the faces of some of the people her mother had once known but who had lost touch since her move into the nursing home, as though not knowing what to say was a cause for shame. But what could you possibly say to someone who had watched a person slowly and painfully disintegrate before them, everything they once were becoming the mere echoes of a life left behind?

Alex watched them filter away one by one until only four remained.

‘If you need anything …’ Harry said, wrapping his broad arms around her in an awkward embrace. ‘And I mean that.’

‘I know you do. Thanks. Now go on – your kids have waited long enough to have their dad back.’

Harry offered her a smile before saying goodbye to Scott and Chloe, leaving the three of them alone outside the crematorium. They headed to Scott’s car.

‘You should eat,’ Chloe told Alex. ‘Shall we pick something up on the way back?’

Alex nodded. She couldn’t really think about food yet, but if it kept Chloe happy for five minutes, she’d have agreed to anything. She opened the door when Scott unlocked the car and got into the back seat.

‘Have you told Scott yet?’ she asked, pulling her handbag on to her lap.

‘Told me what?’ Scott asked, meeting her eye in the rear-view mirror. He gave Chloe a sideways glance before pulling out onto the main road.

Chloe turned in the passenger seat, her eyebrows raised questioningly. ‘No idea,’ she said.

‘Her contract has come to an end,’ Alex said. ‘I’m kicking her out.’

Chloe shot her a look, her lips turned up in a knowing smirk, then shook her head. ‘God, you’re a nightmare,’ she said with a smile. ‘You know very well I’m not going to argue with you today of all days.’

Alex sat back and rested her head against the window as she watched the crematorium grounds slip from view. Maybe, she thought, Chloe wasn’t the only one who needed to move forward.