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 again. 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…

“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 bluishly 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.