I glanced down at my towelling robe. ‘D’you think I should?’

‘I do, as a matter of fact; you didn’t yesterday. Who took Clemmie to school this morning?’

‘Alice’s mum picked her up for me. Has done for a bit.’

‘Right. Good. But … well, brush your teeth at least, won’t you?’ she said awkwardly.

I shrugged. So demanding. And so many questions.

She swallowed. Licked her lips for patience. ‘OK, Pops, back to basics. Money. Where did Phil keep his papers?’

‘In there.’ I pointed vaguely behind me, through the open kitchen door to the sitting room, where a walnut bureau sat under the bay window.

‘Would you mind if I …?’

‘Be my guest.’

She was in like a rat up a drainpipe. Shimmying out of her coat and tossing it en route on the sofa, she hurried across the sitting room and spent the next half-hour getting very busy. I watched her flicking through his files, which, typical of Phil, were organized and methodical, but which somehow, even though I’d walked across to the desk a few times and stared at it, I hadn’t been able to face opening. I turned and resumed my contemplation of the tiny back garden, the sheep in the field beyond. All ewes now, grazing peacefully. Were they happy to see the back of Shameful, I wondered? Or was any man, demanding or otherwise, better than nothing? They looked pretty content to me, munching away out there.

Behind me I could hear the rustle of papers as Jennie burrowed deeper. I sat on. On the one occasion I did glance around, it was to see Angie peering through the sitting-room window from the road, perfectly plucked eyebrows raised enquiringly under her fur hat. Jennie gave her a quick thumbs up. Angie nodded and swept by. Apart from the kitchen clock ticking and the occasional snuffle of my darling Archie through the baby alarm, the house was silent.

At length she came bustling back, brandishing bits of paper.

‘Right. Well, the good news is, he did appear to have a life insurance policy, but I have no idea what’s in it. He also appears to have had a solicitor, who I’m sure can tell you more.’

‘Oh, good.’ I tried to raise some enthusiasm.

I looked beyond her. Funny. I’d never noticed that damp patch on the kitchen wall. I might have to put a picture on that.

‘No will – at least, not that I can find – but that’s quite normal. It’s probably lodged with the solicitor.’

‘Ah.’

‘Shall I make you an appointment?’ she said impatiently.

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Yes, I think it is. You’ll have a lot to talk about. Sometime this week?’

‘Couldn’t it wait?’

‘No it couldn’t. I’ll have the kids for you.’

She’d already whipped out her mobile. Punched out a number which she’d gleaned from the letterhead in her hand. Why couldn’t I make the appointment, I wondered. Because she thought I wouldn’t do it, perhaps. Would I? Hard to say. The feverish adrenalin which had rendered me almost manic a few weeks ago, arranging the funeral like a whirling dervish, putting a notice welcoming all comers in the village shop, rushing from one thing to the next – beetling away from my husband’s grave – had left me now. Something else had moved in. I felt very cold. Very numb. Had done for over a week now. Ten days, to be precise. Ever since that knock upon the door. It was as if I needed to sit here forever, all day, just to conserve energy. I managed quite well when the children were around, forced myself to be chirpy, but most evenings, and in the mornings when Archie was asleep, I sat here, in this chair.

‘Right, well, that’s all organized. Tomorrow at four. OK?’ Jennie went to pocket her mobile, but it rang. ‘Hello …’ She swung away to hide her face. ‘Yes … yes, I’ve done it,’ she said quietly as if the eagle had landed. ‘Pretty low still, I’m afraid.’

‘Who was that?’ I asked absently.

‘Um, Peggy. Wanted to know if I was, er … going to the shops. Now, shall I put it in your calendar?’

‘If you must.’

Clearly. Within a twinkling she’d flicked over a page muttering something about me being a week behind, and was pencilling it in, then underlining it for good measure.

‘OK?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘And I’ve put a shepherd’s pie in the fridge for you. That’s if you’re absolutely sure you won’t come over.’

‘Absolutely sure.’

Jennie asked me over pretty much every night, as did Angie and Peggy. I’d been to Jennie’s a lot in the first few weeks, taken the baby alarm with me, but recently I was happy with my chair.

‘Although I couldn’t help noticing there was one in there already.’

‘One what?’

‘Shepherd’s pie.’

Ah. She’d put it there at the weekend. And I’d forgotten to give it to the children.

I sighed. ‘I like crackers, Jennie. So does Clemmie. But thanks. I appreciate it, really I do.’

She gave me that hassled, worried look I’d seen a lot lately. I pulled my dressing gown around me and tucked a lank piece of hair behind my ear. I did hope she was all right. Had Dan been stopped for speeding again? He’d only just got his licence back. I must remember to ask her. To enquire. But somehow, dredging up words about anything these days was hard. Where did they come from, all those words? I’d see women gossiping in the street – what about? Such an effort. Like washing my hair. Or going to the village shop. God, it was miles, wasn’t it? I’d forgotten we lived so far away. Lucky Jennie, who was just that bit closer. Five yards at least.

‘And I thought I’d walk up to the nursery with you later.’

‘You don’t have any children at the nursery.’

Jennie’s children were older: Jamie, twelve, and Hannah, seven, were both at the local school, which didn’t chuck out until three-thirty.

‘I know, but Leila could do with the exercise. And I daren’t go back into the forest with her.’

Leila had been known to chase the deer up there, an offence which carried a fifty-pound penalty from the deer warden, who had threatened to shoot to kill next time. ‘Can I watch?’ had been Jennie’s riposte. I’d been with Jennie on this last occasion, when, as usual, she’d foolishly let the dog off the lead, then, as usual, spent the next half-hour crashing through undergrowth hissing, ‘Leila! Leila, you bitch, come here!’ Not too loud, you understand, so as not to alert the warden. We’d crashed about some more, when suddenly, in the distance, there’d been an ominous rumble of thundering hooves. To get the full Serengeti effect you have to imagine the stampeding does, the whites of their eyes, the clouds of dust as we flattened ourselves against a tree, pulling Archie’s pushchair in sharpish, and then, in their wake, an Irish terrier, shooting us a delighted look, tongue lolling, galloping joyously. Obviously the warden was crashing through the bracken moments later in his Land Rover, puce in the face with rage, and obviously Jennie was given a fine on the spot and sensibly hadn’t been back. But still, a walk to the nursery, two minutes up the hill, hardly constituted exercise for our Leila. And don’t be deceived by the terrier word, incidentally. With Irish before it, it’s more like a small horse.

I sighed. ‘OK,’ I said obediently, as I tended to these days.

‘And then, later on, I thought you might like to come to choir practice with me.’

‘Really? Why?’ I felt alarmed.

‘Because we’re singing the Gloria tonight, and you’ll enjoy that.’

‘But I don’t sing.’

‘Anyone can sing. And anyway, I’ve stood next to you in church and you’ve got perfect pitch. Frankie’s going to babysit for you.’

‘Right,’ I said flatly. Sing. I couldn’t remember how to talk.

Sure enough, as I set off with Archie an hour or so later, Jennie appeared miraculously from her front door with a straining Leila – I’d swear Peggy’s curtain twitched opposite – and we set off up the hill. We collected Clemmie, and walked back down the hill, all of which took about fifteen minutes, a little longer than usual as Jennie had a furtive word with Miss Hawkins, but still not enough for Leila, who needed a good hour.

As Jennie said goodbye, she bent down to talk to Clemmie.

‘That’s a pretty dress, Clem.’

‘I know. It’s got a rabbit on the front.’

‘It has. And a bit of gravy. You were wearing it yesterday, weren’t you, darling?’

‘Yes, and every day. Six. I’ve counted. Mummy said I could.’

‘Good, good.’ She straightened up. Looked anxious again. I must remember to ask about Dan.

‘Seven o’clock, then?’

‘Hm?’

‘Choir practice. I’ll send Frankie round, but I’ll have to meet you there because I need to take Jamie to scouts.’

‘Righto.’

Submissive. Punch bag. Best way.

The children and I had just about finished our tea when Frankie appeared sometime later. She was a sulky, skinny girl with a washed-out face, not helped by heavy, dark eye make-up, and over-long, bleached blonde hair. She was at the local comp where everyone tended to look like that, but where had that sensitive, rather pretty eight-year-old gone, I wondered, as she sat in a heap at the kitchen table, picking gloomily at her black nail varnish. Archie grinned and banged the table enthusiastically. He responded well to her sulky charms.

‘Hi, Arch.’ She took his soggy offering of a masticated biscuit and his eyes widened delightedly. ‘Crackers and lemonade, yum. We’re never allowed that for tea.’