‘If it was me that died, I’d hate the thought of Olaf falling in love with someone else.’

‘You wouldn’t know,’ said William. ‘You’d be dead.’

‘What about you, Louisa?’ Marc had noticed my silence. ‘Do you suffer feelings of guilt?’

‘Can we – can we do someone else?’

‘I’m Catholic,’ said Daphne. ‘I feel guilty about everything. It’s the nuns, you know.’

‘What do you find difficult about this subject, Louisa?’

I took a swig of coffee. I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Come on, I told myself. I swallowed. ‘That I couldn’t stop him,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I think if I had been smarter, or … handled things differently … or just been more – I don’t know. More anything.’

‘You feel guilty about Bill’s death because you feel you could have stopped him?’

I pulled at a thread. When it came away in my hand it seemed to loosen something in my brain. ‘Also that I’m living a life that is so much less than the one I promised him I’d live. And guilt over the fact that he basically paid for my flat when my sister will probably never be able to afford one of her own. And guilt that I don’t even really like living in it, because it doesn’t feel like mine, and it feels wrong to make it nice because all I associate it with is the fact that W— Bill is dead and somehow I benefited from that.’

There was a short silence.

‘You shouldn’t feel guilty about property,’ said Daphne.

‘I wish someone would leave me a flat,’ said Sunil.

‘But that’s just a fairy tale ending, isn’t it? Man dies, everyone learns something, moves on, creates something wonderful out of his death.’ I was speaking without thinking now. ‘I’ve done none of those things. I’ve basically just failed at all of it.’

‘My dad cries nearly every time he shags someone who isn’t my mum,’ Jake blurted, twisting his hands together. He stared out from under his fringe. ‘He charms women into sleeping with him and then he gets off on being sad about it. It’s like as long as he feels guilty about it afterwards it’s okay.’

‘You think he uses his guilt as a crutch.’

‘I just think either you have sex and feel glad that you’re having all the sex –’

‘I wouldn’t feel guilty about having all the sex,’ said Fred.

‘Or you treat women like human beings and make sure you don’t have anything to feel guilty about. Or don’t even sleep with anyone, and treasure Mum’s memory until you’re actually ready to move on.’

His voice broke on treasure and his jaw tautened. We were used, by then, to the sudden stiffening of expressions, and an unspoken group courtesy meant that we each looked away until any potential tears subsided.

Marc’s voice was gentle. ‘Have you told your father how you feel, Jake?’

‘We don’t talk about Mum. He’s fine as long as, you know, we don’t actually mention her.’

‘That’s quite a burden for you to carry alone.’

‘Yeah. Well … That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’

There was a short silence.

‘Have a biscuit, Jake darling,’ said Daphne, and we passed the tin back around the circle, vaguely reassured, in some way nobody could quite define, when Jake finally took one.

I kept thinking about Lily. I barely registered Sunil’s tale of weeping in the baked-goods section of the supermarket, and just about raised a sympathetic expression for Fred’s solitary marking of Jilly’s birthday with a bunch of foil balloons. For days now the whole episode with Lily had taken on the tenor of a dream, vivid and surreal.

How could Will have had a daughter?

‘You look happy.’

Jake’s father was leaning against his motorbike as I walked across the church hall’s car park.

I stopped in front of him. ‘It’s a grief-counselling session. I’m hardly going to come out tap-dancing.’

‘Fair point.’

‘It’s not what you think. I mean, it’s not me,’ I said. ‘It’s … to do with a teenager.’

He tipped his head backwards, spying Jake behind me. ‘Oh. Right. Well, you have my sympathies there. You look young to have a teenager, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘Oh. No. Not mine! It’s … complicated.’

‘I’d love to give you advice. But I don’t have a clue.’ He stepped forward and enveloped Jake in a hug, which the boy tolerated glumly. ‘You all right, young man?’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine,’ Sam said, glancing sideways at me. ‘There you go. Universal response of all teenagers to everything. War, famine, lottery wins, global fame. It’s all fine.’

‘You didn’t need to pick me up. I’m going to Jools’s.’

‘You want a lift?’

‘She lives, like, there. In that block.’ Jake pointed. ‘I think I can manage that by myself.’

Sam’s expression remained even. ‘So, maybe text me next time? Save me coming here and waiting?’

Jake shrugged, and walked off, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. We watched him go in silence.