“Darling?”

Matt’s whisper jerked me back to reality. I reached out for him, my other hand pulling at the hair that lay hotly against my neck.

“Angus inherited the family business on the death of his father in the late sixties and, under his leadership, Sampson & Sons became one of the most successful manufacturers in the United Kingdom, if not Europe. By the age of forty, Angus had increased turnover of the business by two hundred percent, and as we all know, became one of the most successful–”

“Are you okay? Maudie?”

“I’m okay.” I breathed deeply, in and out. I was okay – the panic was receding. I put my shaking fingers to my forehead and wiped away a thin film of sweat. My fingertip ran over the familiar ridges of my scar, a jagged L-shape that linked my eyebrow and my temple.

“However, unlike some entrepreneurs, Angus wanted to use his fortune for good. As well as generous donations to a host of charitable foundations, Angus founded the Katherine College of Art and Creative Writing in nineteen ninety-two, enabling many young people to follow their dreams and ambitions in the creative arts, and I know he would be so pleased to see so many alumni here today. Named after his wife Katherine, who died so tragically young, the college quickly became a–”

Matt was still looking at me anxiously. I dredged up a smile from somewhere. I was still damnably hot – I began to surreptitiously unbutton my coat.

“He was, in short, a most generous benefactor to the Arts, a benevolent entrepreneur and a man devoted to his friends and family. Here to read a poem from one of the first graduates of the college, is Angus’s only daughter, Maudie.”

I could feel eyes swivelling toward me as I sat struggling to release myself from my coat. Blushing, I wrenched at the last remaining sleeve and felt the lining give in a purr of ripped stitches. I managed to stand up, clutching my notes in a sweating hand. Matt gave me a strained smile as I manoeuvred my way past him and made my way to the front of the church. I felt the pressure of two hundred pairs of eyes boring into my back. I was sure my scar was glowing red, as if a branding iron had been laid against my face. I just about managed to restrain myself from putting my hand up to cover it. Then I was level with the coffin.

I could only do this if I didn’t think about it, about any of it. I could feel that weird sense of disconnect again, but this time I welcomed it; I felt as if I were watching myself from afar. See, there’s Maudie climbing the steps to the pulpit. I could feel the cool slip of the little banister beneath my palm but it was as if it were happening to someone else. I stood facing the packed rows of the church, all those eyes on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the hard edges of the coffin. Angus, I thought, where are you now? Was he in this church, waiting for me to mess up, once again? I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I began to read, as professionally as my quavering voice would allow.

It was later. I manoeuvred my way slowly through the drawing room, clutching an empty wine glass. People were drinking a lot, although discreetly, and conversation was at a subdued hum. I kept my face fixed in a restrained smile and moved through the little groups as though I had somewhere specific to go. As I made my way across the room, squeezing past elbows and shoulders, I looked at all the different pairs of feet shifting back and forth; polished brogues, black court shoes, a pair of grubby trainers, which marked their owner out as either a disrespectful teenager or an arts graduate from the college.

I found Aunt Effie sitting on one of the drawing room sofas. She looked exhausted, as if she'd shrunk a little during the afternoon. For a second, pity softened me. She’d had her eyes closed and I began to move away, but she opened them and spotted me.

“Would you like a drink, Auntie?" I said, pretending I hadn’t been trying to leave.

"A cup of tea, thank you dear." The bulbs of her knuckles shone bluish through her skin as she clasped her walking stick. "Mrs. Green has some Earl Grey in the kitchen, I believe."

I just nodded. It would give me something to do.

The kitchen was relatively empty. Mrs. Green was busy in the pantry, stacking more canapés on white plates. She pointed me in the direction of the tea and I made it, hastily and badly. I could see a nearly full bottle of brandy on the shelf behind Mrs. Green’s head and wondered if it would sound too strange if I asked to have it. I decided it probably would, and picked up a bottle of wine as a substitute.

As I handed Aunt Effie her tea, Matt came up to me.

“What can I do?” he said after a moment.

I seized the opportunity and asked him to get me a glass of brandy – ‘just a small one’. He nodded and hurried off to the distant kitchen. I sat back down, feeling slightly better. Aunt Effie and I sat in silence, the subdued hubbub of the wake swirling around us. I tried to think of something to say, something bland and inoffensive, but I couldn’t think of anything. I looked around the room, at the ornaments, the pictures and glassware and sculptures. Angus likes to collect beautiful things. Liked. I looked around the crowd to see if I could see any of his women, but I didn’t recognise anyone. Perhaps that tall redhead in the corner, in black velvet? I thought I’d spotted the young one earlier; I couldn’t remember her name – the one who’d been here when Becca and I had visited – but that had been a few years ago and I couldn’t be sure. I put my hands up to my head, massaging my temples.

Matt came back with the brandy. He poured me a glass and stood over me until I’d had a sip.

“That’s better,” he said. “You looked like you were about to keel over. Just sit there for a moment and keep Aunt Effie company. I’ll be back soon.”

We both watched Matt move slowly about the room, topping up people’s drinks, helping with coats, having his hand shaken. Occasionally, he’d look back at me, and smile. I sipped at my brandy, my mouth puckering.

“Matthew’s been very helpful,” said Aunt Effie. I nodded. He was good at this stuff, putting people at ease, making sure everything ran smoothly. He was so much more interested in people than I was. Sometimes I admired this trait in him. At other times, I regarded it with a half-contemptuous amusement.

Aunt Effie was still speaking. “I haven’t had much of a chance to get to know him since your wedding,” she said. I smiled, guiltily. “Being so far away from you. You must come up to visit more often, Maudie. Particularly now...”

She was waiting for a reply. What else could I say?

“Of course, Auntie.”

I looked up and caught Matt’s eye as he made his way to the kitchen with an empty wine bottle. He gave me a ghost of a wink, just a bare flutter of an eyelid behind his specs. Despite the awfulness of the day, I felt my heart lift, just a little.

I watched him move about the room, his face serious. He stood for a while talking to the dean of Katherine and I tried to catch his eye, but the light slanted across his glasses in a way that made them opaque; I couldn’t tell which way he was looking.

After I’d finished my drink, I roused myself. I made myself do the rounds of the rooms, thanking people for coming and receiving their condolences in turn. The same phrases kept coming up: always seemed so strong, such a shock, painless, sudden, no-one quite like him. The afternoon seemed to stretch on forever; I felt as if I’d lived my whole life talking to black-clad mourners with their careful words, and their pats on the hand, and the tremulous, strained smiles that were turned my way. Eventually, I reached the hallway, thick with more people. I could see Matt’s dark head over by the foot of the stairs, talking to Mr. Fenwick and another younger man. For a moment, I stood still. In the dark hallway, everyone’s funereal attire blended into one shadowy mass. Then I noticed, right over in the far corner, a flash of blonde hair. I looked again. The woman had her back to me; she was tall and very thin, wearing a white shirt that glimmered dully in the little light that penetrated the hallway. Her hair was a bright, true blonde, hanging to her shoulder blades, which I could see clearly through the thin material of her shirt. Who was she? I hadn’t noticed her before. I moved forward and my eyes dropped away for a second. When I managed to get closer to her, she’d gone. I stood for a second, blinking.