“I’ll be upstairs, okay? Just got to get a few things before we go to church,” he said. He put a hand on my shoulder as he walked past, and nodded to Aunt Effie as he left. “Put something warmer on, darling, you’re shivering.”

His comment warmed me more than a thicker jumper would and I managed a real smile. It was strange, seeing him dressed in a black suit and not one of his ratty old jumpers and his tweed jacket with the corduroy patches on the elbows. He’d had that jacket so long the corduroy had worn smooth, like velvet. He looked different in black; older, more serious. I suddenly had a glimpse of him as his students must see him. He left the door wide open, as he always does when I’m in the room, and I felt a rush of affection for him, for always thinking about me.

I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up. Aunt Effie did too, rather more slowly.

“Maudie.”

Shit. I stopped just before the doorway and turned around slowly, trying not to let my feelings show. Oh, I know I should have been more patient but I couldn’t be around anyone else’s grief.

She made her way towards me, walking stick tapping out a staccato message on the floorboards. I forced myself to wait for her. As we walked slowly towards the hallway, I concentrated on my breathing.

“Matthew is looking well,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, looking at her sideways. I had never quite ascertained her feelings towards my hasty marriage to a man thirteen years older than myself. Not hasty, let’s not say that – let’s say impulsive, instead. She’s not one to talk of her feelings – we aren’t, in our family - but I thought – wondered – whether she really approved.

She startled me then. She put a hand out to my arm and pressed it.

“I know you don’t show your feelings much, dear,” she said, almost whispering. I stared at her, shocked that her choice of words could mirror my own private thoughts. “But you’re so like Angus; I know you must miss him dreadfully, dear. As we all do.”

I opened my mouth but she interrupted me.

“I know things haven’t always been easy—“ I made some sort of sound and she increased the pressure on my arm. I had to stop myself shrinking away from her touch. I felt peeled, as if I were missing a layer of skin. “I know things haven’t been easy but – well, Maudie–”

“What are you trying to say?” I said. I resisted the urge to move my arm away. It wasn’t her fault, after all.

“I’m just saying that sometimes things have to be done for the best. We all have responsibilities. It might not always be what we want to do, but it has to be done anyway.”

I made a non-committal noise. I had no idea what she meant.

She looked down. I was close enough to see the fine dusting of powder on the withered peach-bloom of her cheek.

“Don’t let me down,” she said quietly.

“What–”

“At the funeral. Please – just do what you’ve been asked to do.”

She was looking at me directly. Her eyes were the same colour as Angus’s; pale grey. For a moment, it was like looking at him and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to say why wouldn’t I, but I couldn’t get the words out.

“Okay,” I gasped, finally. I pulled my arm away, too roughly, but I couldn’t help it. I managed to nod goodbye. I could feel her looking at me as I made my way up the stairs and had to force myself not to run.

I found Matt up in the bedroom, looking out of the window at the distant mountains, his hands in his pockets. I hesitated for a moment and then wrapped my arms around him from behind, laying my head against his shoulder blades. I could feel the steady thud of his heart reverberating through his body, beating gently against my face. The suit had that dry, new-clothes smell. I sighed.

On hearing me, he turned around and took me into his arms properly, rocking me back and forth.

"You’re shaking," he said.

“I’m just cold.”

He let the lie pass. I burrowed my face into his shoulder.

“What a horrible day for you," he said.

“I’m alright,” I said.

He drew back a little and held me at arm’s length. “Are you?” he said. His eyes met mine and I blinked and looked away.

“I’m alright,” I said again. I kissed him briefly, just a quick peck on the lips. He pulled me closer to him again.

"Don't worry," he said, the slow metronome rock of his arms bringing me a little comfort. "I'm here for you. Don't worry about anything." He gave me a final squeeze and released me. "I'd better go down and see if I can help out with the cars," he said. "Wrap up warm."

I nodded.

“This is really shit, Maudie,” he said. “I know it is. But you’ll get through it. I’ll help you get through it. You know that, don’t you?” He looked at me with such concern, I had to look away. “You do, don’t you?”

I felt my face twist and fought it. I managed to nod and Matt put his arms around me again.

After he left the room, I waited in the same spot, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to recreate the same sense of comfort that Matt's embrace had given me. It didn't work. Out of the window, I could see Matt walking across the driveway, stopping to speak to Mr. Fenwick, their faces serious. The black limousine stood on the gravel forecourt, chugging clouds of white vapour into the air. I felt a momentary qualm because Angus wasn't a limousine type person; he thought they were too brash, too vulgar, but the funeral director had suggested it and I'd agreed, too bleary with shock to think of saying no. Would he have disapproved?

My head swam. I couldn’t get through this day, I couldn’t... One thing would help, if I could find it. I went to the wardrobe and knelt down, throwing old shoes aside, pushing past the litter of paper and plastic bags that cluttered the bottom of it. It was a faint hope but...my questing fingers felt the sharp edges of a shoe box and something leapt up inside me. I took a quick look over my shoulder at the firmly closed bedroom door. Then I lifted the lid of the box. Still here, after all these years. There was at least a quarter of a bottle left. Thank God. I felt the heat of it slide down my throat, the wonderful burn of it hitting my stomach. I finished the vodka in six quick gulps and pushed the bottle back into the box, hiding it under a welter of old clothes. My head swam as I got up from the floor, but this time I welcomed it. I began to feel that wonderful sense of distance, a glass bubble surrounding me. In the bathroom, I rinsed my mouth with mouthwash. Then I buttoned my coat tightly about me, ran my finger tip under each eye and went to join the others.

“Angus, as you know, lived most of his youth in Scotland and always retained a great deal of fondness for his native land–”

As the vicar spoke, I glanced around the packed church. Angus had had few close friends but very many acquaintances, nearly all of whom were here. My eye picked out various members of the board of governors from Katherine, all of whom I would need to speak to later; several young faces, who looked like students, or recent graduates; a few ancient family members down from Scotland; what looked like all of the directors from the company, down to the lowliest executive; a smattering of what had to be press, packed into the last few pews; faces, young and old, that I didn’t recognise at all. I slid my gaze back to the front of the church. Coffins always look too small to hold the person they enclose. I looked at the wooden sides, French-polished to a deep lustrous shine, and thought: how can Angus be in there? How can he be dead? A rush of unreality hit me, and I jerked a little in my seat. All of a sudden, I felt swamped with heat. I’m going to faint, I thought, and for a moment could not decide what would be worse – to faint in full view of everyone in the church, or to disturb everyone by rushing pell-mell towards the exit...