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street. She felt slightly ill. The humiliation of what she had done at her son’s funeral was starting to set in. She had been so sure that focusing her anger on that stupid girl was going to help her deal with today, but now it was just making her feel childish and embarrassed. Although it wasn’t the sentiment that bothered her, she certainly still felt strongly about that . . . but maybe her methods weren’t the best.
    Evelyn had written a beautiful eulogy, describing her son’s kind nature, his talents, his sense of humour and promising career. She had refused to even mention his fiancée – not until the very last line.
    â€˜One last thing I believe you all need to know: if you were wondering who is responsible for Andrew’s death, she’s here with us today, sitting right there in the front row.’ Evelyn had brazenly pointed one finger at Belinda; the congregation seemed to take a collective breath. The minister stumbled over his words as he tried to finish the service.
    At the time, the sight of Belinda’s shocked and hurt face, already wet with messy tears, hadn’t even made her flinch. But now the satisfaction had slipped away to be replaced by this annoying sick feeling. No one had mentioned a thing about it to her afterwards. Right through the wake they all pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Even Belinda’s own family had politely offered their condolences without a hint of malice in their eyes. But no doubt they would all be gossiping about it behind her back. ‘If you ask me, the old bat’s lost it.’ ‘Yep, not even a healthy dose of therapy can fix up a nutter that far gone.’
    How was she supposed to cope with this? It was unfair – she had already buried her husband, Carl, a good fifteen years ago, so he wasn’t here to be devastated alongside her. From the moment she had stepped out of the church on the day of Carl’s funeral and caught her sons fighting, she had been faced with the realisation that she would be dealing with each and every parenting moment on her own from then on. That prospect had been so daunting that her chest had tightened up and she almost hadn’t reacted in time. But instinct had kicked in and she’d grabbed Andrew’s fist just before he had the chance to give James an unsightly bloody nose for the wake.

    â€˜Andrew! What on
earth
are you doing?’
    â€˜He’s saying mean things about Dad. Tell him to take it back, tell him he’s wrong, wrong,
wrong
!’
    â€˜All right, but you need to calm down first. Quickly, let’s go over to that bench and talk. We need to sort this out before everyone else comes spilling out of those church doors.’
    â€˜But you should have heard him, Mum, you should have heard what he called Dad.’
    â€˜Stop. Sit. Listen. I know today is hard for you both. You loved your dad very much and so did I. He was a wonderful man and he was so looking forward to taking you boys fishing.’
    â€˜Oh, yeah, then why—’
    â€˜I’m not finished yet, James Matthew McGavin. If your father could have helped it, there is no way in hell that he would have left you two – or me, I’d like to think. But you
are
allowed to be angry with him. And, you
are
allowed to cry – there is absolutely no shame in crying at your own father’s funeral. However, I do need you to keep the sibling-related violence to a minimum. Just this once, do you think you could please get along? For me?’

    She started as she heard a noise behind her and turned to see her sister, Violet, walking in from the kitchen.
    â€˜Right, that’s the last load going through the dishwasher as we speak.’
    â€˜Vi, I almost forgot you were still here.’ Evelyn was caught by surprise, as she often was when she looked into her sister’s face. It was her own, just seven years younger and therefore seven years