The dining room was as dark as ever. In the blackened fireplace were the ashes of last night’s fire. Mrs Green, or someone, had switched on a little electric heater which stood in front of the hearth, both bars glowing red but sending out a pathetic heat that barely warmed the patch of floor in front of it. I stood for a moment in front of the fire, feeling my shins scorch in their covering of fine black nylon, putting off the moment I’d have to start making conversation.

The others were already sat down to breakfast; Matt, with my empty chair next to him, Aunt Effie opposite, and next to her, Mr Fenwick, my father’s solicitor. I poured myself coffee and gave one to Matt, just the way he liked it, black and strong. He smiled at me and I managed to smile back. I directed the remnants of the smile towards Aunt Effie and Mr Fenwick. So far, so good – I was holding it together. As I sat down, I could feel my eyes being drawn towards the empty chair at the head of the table. For a moment, I could almost see Angus there; dark-suited, his pewter-haired head bent towards the copy of The Daily Telegraph folded next to his plate. He would turn his eyes to me, like twin points of metal. But of course, I didn’t really see him, because he was dead. Angus was dead. The knowledge kept thumping me in the stomach. I kept wanting to laugh, it was so ludicrous. It kept coming in waves; I was afraid at some point I wouldn’t be able to control it. I poured myself another cup of coffee, trying to distract myself. The coffee pot chimed once, twice, on the edge of my cup.

Aunt Effie and Mr Fenwick were carrying on a stilted conversation about the order of procedure at the funeral, and various travel arrangements. Matt sat beside me, saying nothing. He ate almost silently, staring across the table, and I wondered what he was thinking. From here I could see the glints of silver in the hair above his temples; they matched the frame of his glasses. I squeezed his thigh under the table and he glanced at me and smiled, briefly. I smiled back, or tried to – I’d been pushing down the scream that had wanted to emerge for so long my face wouldn’t react properly – the smile came out all wonky.

“You’ll be doing a reading today, Maudie?” said Aunt Effie.

“What?”

“You’ll be reading today, dear?”

I took a moment to reply.

“Yes,” I said.

“What will you be reading?”

I struggled for a moment. I felt Matt give my own leg a comforting squeeze and managed to get the words out.

“A poem. One of the writers from Katherine.”

Aunt Effie looked pleased.

“Ah, of course. Very suitable, I’m sure.”

We were all silent for a moment. I crumbled the toast left on my plate. Matt raised his coffee cup to his lips and took a sip.

“Yes,” said Aunt Effie, “he would have liked that.”

She looked down at her plate, eyes glistening behind her glasses. Something about her tears made me suddenly feel faint. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I took a scalding mouthful of coffee, the cup chattering against my teeth.

Mr Fenwick excused himself from the table and we soon heard his brisk steps echoing back from the polished wood of the hallway. Matt put his coffee cup back in its saucer and the tiny sound rang out into the silent room.

“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 passed, 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."