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mind,’ I said, bitterly.
     
    ‘OK,’ said Philly. ‘Uh, what about the funeral . . .’
     
    ‘Don’t come,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to see either of you.’
     
    I really regretted that. It wasn’t my funeral, though I’m sure Carena and Rufus would have found everything much more convenient if it had been. They should have been there though. Philly, who used to secretly eat all the muffins in our kitchen, and when my dad caught her at it one day he’d laughed hysterically and had a huge muffin basket sent to her house. Carena, who used to explain to him patiently why we needed to have our music so loud. They were part of my dad’s life, too. At least he never met Rufus. And it meant, too, at the funeral, there was no one I knew, just hundreds of businessmen.
     
    ‘He was such a good man.’
     
    ‘A terrific businessman.’
     
    ‘Great to work with.’
     
    All of that I’d expected, and I tried to swallow the ping pong ball in my throat and thank them gracefully. But what I wasn’t expecting from so many strangers were the things they said about me.
     
    ‘He was so proud of you.’
     
    ‘Says you’ve got a big job in photography.’
     
    ‘He always said you worked really hard, that you were doing really well at college.’
     
    Over and over again, people I scarcely recognised came up to tell me things my dad had told them about me. About how great I was, and how well I was doing and how happy I was.
     
    Things that, when I thought about the uselessness of my life - parties, and lunches and messing about - just obviously weren’t true.
     
     
     
    Summer turned into autumn and I scarcely noticed. Then one morning Gail rapped sharply at my door.
     
    ‘Sophie? Could you come downstairs please? We’re in the study.’
     
    Her voice sounded timid. I’d avoided her - avoided everyone - but I heard her come and go occasionally. I hadn’t asked how she was; I was too selfish and caught up in my own grief.
     
    Gail looked stiff and awkward in the study. Standing next to her was a tall, grey-haired man with small round spectacles and a pursed mouth. Next to him was my father’s old lawyer, Leonard. He looked quiet and sad. He’d given me a big hug at Dad’s funeral. I’d always liked him. He had four daughters and had known me since I was tiny. But it was clear from the way Gail was standing next to the tall chap that he was in charge now.
     
    Sure enough, Gail immediately said, ‘This is Mr Fortescue, my lawyer.’
     
    I gave him a second glance. ‘What about Leonard?’
     
    ‘Leonard only worked for your dad. Mr Fortescue has been helping me out with a few things.’
     
    I didn’t like the sound of that very much. Leonard half-smiled at me, a little sadly.
     
    ‘We just wanted to have a little talk with you. About arrangements and so on.’
     
    Gail’s eyes were fixed on a point about twenty centimetres above my head. She looked really uncomfortable. I didn’t realise why I hadn’t figured this out before - it hadn’t really crossed my mind. But it was about Daddy’s will. Of course. I briefly felt a cold hand clutch at my insides. Then ignored it; it wasn’t as if I had to worry. ‘I’ll always look after you,’ Daddy had said.
     
    ‘Sophie,’ she began, ‘look. Now, your dad obviously wanted you to be well looked after . . .’
     
    I nodded.
     
    ‘Look, Sophie . . . I’m so sorry . . . this is going to come as a bit of a shock.’
     
    ‘What?’ The room suddenly swayed a little out of focus.
     
    ‘There is an inheritance for you, of course there is. But here’s the thing. Your dad . . . he put it in trust.’
     
    ‘What does that mean?’
     
    ‘Sophie, you know your dad was worried about you. He worried that you didn’t really have a job.’
     
    ‘I have a job!’
     
    ‘Sorry, I know that. Well, maybe more of a proper career. He worried about your party lifestyle.’
     
    I heaved a sigh. ‘Was this him thinking this? Or you?’
     
    Gail