Page 16 of The Fall-Out

Ahead of us, I could see Zara’s patent black stilettos with their scarlet soles striding along the wet pavement. There were seams running up the back of her tights, and the coat she’d put on was swishy cashmere, exactly the same length as her dress. I wondered if she had an outfit specifically for funerals tucked away in her wardrobe, or whether she’d bought this one for the occasion. I wondered how long she’d known she was going to be coming, and where she’d been.

I looked at Patch, but his face gave no sign of what he was thinking.

Soon – too soon – we reached the Watley Arms. From the outside, it looked like an old-school London boozer, complete with a swinging board bearing a coat of arms, leaded windows and a heavy, studded door. But I knew from the website that inside it was all sleek and modern, with beige suede banquettes, engineered wood floors and abstract art on the walls.

We all paused outside for a moment.

‘Come on, team,’ said Kate. ‘We’ve got this.’

‘We knew it was going to be bad,’ Abbie said. ‘And the worst bit’s over.’

‘The worst bit’s just starting,’ Kate muttered, and I knew she wasn’t talking about the wake, or Zara’s surprise appearance, but about the days, months and years that lay ahead, without Andy.

‘This is about him, not us,’ I said. ‘Zara doesn’t matter. It’s fine. She can’t hurt us.’

‘So let’s all get in there and get shitfaced,’ Rowan said.

Our eyes met and we all recited our funeral mantra: ‘It’s what Andy would’ve wanted.’

Inside the pub, it was blissfully warm. I took my coat off and draped it on a pile of others, feeling the polyester of my dress damp under my arms.

‘Bottle of fizz?’ Daniel asked.

‘Better make it two,’ said Matt. ‘Abbie and I will stay here by the door to meet and greet.’

‘I’ll stay too,’ Kate said.

‘I’d better go and speak to Andy’s mum.’ Reluctantly, I left the safety of my husband and friends and edged through the small crowd of people in the direction of Mrs Sinclair.

She was standing alone as I approached her, a glass of what looked like brandy clutched in both hands. She was a tiny woman, fair-haired like Andy, with echoes of his face in her razor-sharp jawline and high forehead.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m Naomi, one of Andy’s friends.’

She took my hand in her tiny, bird-like one. ‘Ah yes, the famous Girlfriends’ Club. Lavinia.’

‘I’m so very sorry for your loss.’

She looked up at me, her eyes twin splinters of blue glass. ‘It’s your loss as much as it is mine. Andrew and I weren’t close, as I’m sure you know. But no mother should have to attend their child’s funeral.’

She said it with something almost like disgust, as if Andy had insisted she come and watch him cavort at a sex party, I thought. Then I instantly felt terrible for my harshness – how could I know how I’d react in her situation? For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine organising Toby or Meredith’s funeral, and I felt the tears that hadn’t been far from the surface since learning of Andy’s death threaten to start leaking from my eyes.

‘Of course not,’ I said gently. ‘It’s a terrible thing. We all loved Andy very much.’

And Andy must have loved her, at some point. But ever since I’d known him, he’d referred to his mother as ‘the gorgon’ and barely seen her – and, to be honest, I was starting to understand why.

‘We mustn’t speak ill of the dead,’ she said, in the tone of someone who was about to do just that, ‘but I sometimes think my son only loved himself.’

‘He was very troubled. We all have our demons, I guess, but he brought us all so much joy. He had so many friends.’

Zara’s face appeared in my mind, so clearly it almost seemed as if she’d materialised from across the room and was standing right there, smiling at me. But she wasn’t.

‘So I see.’ She looked coldly around the room. ‘And I suppose I should circulate among them. If you’ll excuse me.’

She turned away without another word and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me clutching my glass, trembling.

I felt tears welling up again, and saw the sign for the ladies’ toilet in front of me. I’d take a moment, I decided – have a quiet cry, sort out my make-up and then brave the rest of the afternoon. We needn’t stay long, I promised myself. We had to pick up the children. Soon I would be home.

I pushed open the door, already rummaging in my bag for tissues. But as I did so, I felt a sudden twang between my shoulder blades, and something sharp piercing my skin.

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