FIVE OR SIX days after the funeral, or perhaps a week, Rory finally ventures out. Her father’s dog, Harpo, has been so patient, but he needs more than an amble round the backyard. And so does she. They head for the big park by the river; Dad loved this place, and she remembers walking with him here as quiet, restful. But today she enters to find it packed: wedding groups, family gatherings, couples strolling with their kids.

Saturday. She hadn’t realised. Saturday afternoon, dodging a racketty gaggle of teenagers all showing off for each other. Everyone taking photos. Selfies; group selfies. Everyone so shockingly, noisily alive.