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to Vanessa, her hands cradling her bump, I miss him intensely. It’s like there’s a hole in my heart, where he should be.
    I once used to say the same thing about Johnny.
    I reach across and squeeze Christian’s hand. He squeezes mine back, hard.
    After the service we return to Eugen’s house for the wake. I reprise my role of caterer and spend the next two hours with a tray superglued to my hand as I offer sandwiches and sausage rolls to friends and family. I’m glad to have something to do. Eventually people begin to leave. I refuse Vanessa’s offer of help and insist she goes home to put her feet up, and finally only Joel, Christian and Eugen remain. I make them tea to take into the living room and then go into the kitchen to clear up, promising Christian that I’m happy to do the task by myself. To be honest, I want be alone for a while. I don’t know Christian’s family well. Many of them came from Sweden and don’t speak much English. Christian is bilingual so he’s had no trouble conversing, but the small talk for me has been exhausting, however unkind it feels to admit that.
    I scrape the remnants of food off plates and stack the dishwasher. I set it going and then pause for a moment to lean against the sink and remember Mandy. I can almost hear her laughing.
    The doorbell rings, snapping me back to life.
    ‘I’ll get it,’ I call into the living room, the murmur of male voices halting briefly. I can see an outline of a person through the stained-glass door and wonder who would call at this hour after a funeral. It’s only eight o’clock, but everyone went home ages ago. I open the door and my heart almost beats out of my chest when I see Johnny standing there.
    I stare up at him in shock. He seems taller than I remember, even though I know he’s six foot two compared to my five-foot-seven-inch frame, and somehow he also appears broader. The fact that he’s wearing a chunky black coat in the middle of summer could have something to do with it. His face is tanned and his dark blond hair is as dishevelled as it ever was, falling to just below his chin. Even in the lacklustre light of the hallway, his eyes have an intense greenness to them.
    He mirrors my shocked expression, but quickly gets himself together. ‘Are you going to let me in, or what?’ He glances over his shoulder with an air of impatience.
    I find my voice. ‘Of course, yes.’ He’ll be worried that the press have tailed him. I step aside and look down at his beaten-up Chelsea boots as he walks over the threshold, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke wafting past me. What am I going to say to him?
    ‘Where’s Christian?’ he asks, not meeting my eyes. I’m caught off guard by the bluntness of his tone.
    ‘In the living room,’ I reply, shutting the door behind him. I begin to follow him, but something makes me stop. Heart still in my throat, I go instead to the kitchen, trying to block out the sound of Johnny’s now warm and sympathetic voice as he greets his oldest friend.
    I face the kitchen sink, clutching the edge of the countertop. My hands are shaking.
    Snap out of it, Meg. Snap out of it.
    I force myself to reach for a glass, with the intention of washing it, but I have to rest my hand back on the countertop. I feel too weak to move. I need to sit down, but I daren’t move my feet.
    I haven’t seen him for almost two years and he’s treating me like a stranger. No, worse: he’s treating me like an enemy.
    I want to get away from here.
    No. I want to stay. I want to see him again.
    I hear footsteps behind me and I spin around, expecting it to be Johnny, but it’s Christian.
    ‘Are you alright?’ he asks, concerned.
    ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I reply quickly, blood rushing into my face. ‘How are you?’
    ‘I’m okay,’ he says slowly. ‘Would you mind making Johnny a cup of coffee?’
    ‘Of course, yes.’ Like a woman possessed, I clatter a cup out of the cupboard and switch on the coffee machine.
    ‘Are