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 sculpture. 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 their 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’d managed to get closer to her, she’d gone. I stood for a second, blinking.

“Maudie?”

Matt was calling me. I shook my head and made my way over to his little group by the stairs.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Fine, I’m fine,” I said. It was the mantra of the day. I held up the bottle of wine. “Just doing the rounds. Anyone want a refill?”

Mr Fenwick held his glass out and I dribbled the last of the wine into it.

“Who’s the blonde girl?” I said.

“Which blonde girl would that be, my dear?” said Mr Fenwick. He had a bone-dry sense of humour and a way of talking which made him sound perpetually faintly amused. I once thought he’d cultivated the tone deliberately, judging it to be exactly that of an old-fashioned, family solicitor. I liked him though. I’d known him since I was five; he had a blunt kindness that shone through his professional manner.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “I just saw this blonde girl over in the corner and didn’t recognise her. I just wondered who she was. She was quite thin. I couldn’t see her face.”

“I didn’t notice her,” said Matt. “But we were busy talking. Mr Fenwick – “ he hesitated for a second. “Mr Fenwick will stay behind afterwards to – to read the will.”

The will. It sounds stupid but it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Now, my dear,” said Mr Fenwick, who must have noticed my contorted face. “Please don’t distress yourself. It’s a very straightforward will, nothing to be alarmed about. I’ll go through it with you step by step later but you really mustn’t worry, it’s all perfectly straightforward. No hidden surprises.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Thank you but it wasn’t – I mean, I hadn’t thought about the will. It was just – “

My voice wobbled despite myself and I clutched at the slippery glass of my empty wine bottle, needing to feel something tangible beneath my fingers. I felt Matt’s arm go around my waist and leaned into him.

I didn’t think about the blonde girl again, until right at the tail end of the wake, when we were once more gathered in the hallway. Matt was helping an elderly guest on with his coat when over his shoulder I caught sight of her again, just her thin back in her shimmering shirt and her fall of bright blonde hair. She was standing in the same place she’d stood before.

The elderly guest tottered off and I nudged Matt in the ribs.

“There’s that blonde girl again,” I said. “Do you know her?”

Matt turned to look. He stared for a moment, turned back to look at me and gave a half-stifled laugh. A few disapproving tuts were heard from the remaining guests, but Matt took no notice.

“You idiot,” he said. “That’s you.”

“What?”

He was still trying not to laugh. “It’s you. It’s you reflected in a mirror. Or two mirrors, actually, a reflection of a reflection. Look, shake your head. There – see? It’s you.”

I began to blush. “Oh yes. What an idiot.”

I looked more closely. I craned my neck and turned my head and in the mirror, the blonde girl did the same. I turned more fully and saw my own scorching face reflected in the mirror, the scar standing out livid against my temple where my hair had fallen back. What a fool. I looked at Matt and he took my hand, pulling me against him.

“You’ve had a day of it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Later, I took a good look at my naked self in the bathroom mirror. Seeing my reflection had shocked me, not just in the silly way I’d mistaken myself for someone else. I hadn’t realised I’d got so thin. There was a hollow underneath each side of my ribcage; there was a smudge of shadow beneath my collarbone, where the flesh fell away. I dabbed some more concealer onto my temple and pulled my hair forward. On the bathroom window sill, my mobile phone jittered as an incoming text came through. I picked it up; it was from Becca. Didn’t want to call cos time difference. Wish cld be there, thinking of u, sending love n hugs. Becs xxx. It made me smile and I held the phone against my cheek briefly, as if those kisses on the end of the message could be transferred to my face.