Beth simpers and nods.

Lottie rolls her eyes.

'And I was a toadstool.'

'Were you? That sounds like fun.'

She grins.

'I'll show you, if you like, Aunty Jo, but you'll have to take your boots off.'

Fiona doesn't seem keen.

'Not now, darling. Lunch is nearly ready.'

Archie sighs.

'I'd like to be a toadstool. Can you show me too?'

Beth makes a sniggering noise.

'Toadstools are only for people who aren't very good at ballet. I was a deer. I can show you, if you like, Jack.'

Jack looks rather panicked.

'A what?'

'A deer. Like in Bambi.'

Archie's delighted.

'Yes. And then we can shoot him.'

After a last-minute crisis with the Yorkshires, which seem perfectly fine to me but apparently haven't risen properly, Elizabeth calls us in to lunch, looking rather tense. Gerald's swaying slightly as he carves the joint: perhaps that second sherry wasn't such a good idea after all.

'Would you like horseradish, Jo?'

'Thank you.'

Elizabeth passes me a small china jug.

'I do think proper horseradish is so much nicer than those terrible jars, don't you? Fiona made this. It's one of our WI recipes.'

'Lovely.'

Fiona smiles.

'It's ever so easy really.'

'I don't like horseradished.'

Jack's looking rather anxious; he's already had two Brussels sprouts launched on to his plate against his will.

'You don't have to have any if you don't want it. Just eat up your lovely carrots. And try a sprout, love; you might like them now. But if not, just leave them, OK? Nobody will mind as long as you try a mouthful.'

Actually, Elizabeth will mind, since she's definitely from the You Have To Eat Whatever Is Put On Your Plate school of thought, but I don't really go in for force-feeding children, not least because it's totally counter-productive.

'Christ almighty.'

We all turn to look at James, who's started coughing.

'Horseradish. Bit strong.'

His eyes are watering.

We all taste our horseradish, and then wish we hadn't. Bloody hell, the tip of my tongue's gone completely numb.

Fiona's looking totally stricken.

'I'm sure I followed the recipe.'

Gerald coughs and pours himself some more wine.

Time to change the subject, I think.

'The beef is delicious, Elizabeth. Archie, don't lean back on your chair like that, or you'll tip over.'

'No, I won't.'

'Archie.'

'I never tip over. Jake Palmer fell right off his chair at school when we were having our lunch, and he spilled his water. But I never do.'

'Archie, just sit properly, please. Do you want your meat cut up?'

He gives me an outraged look.

'No, I do not. I'm not a baby.'

'Well, eat properly then, please.'

Elizabeth smiles at him encouragingly.

'There's jelly and ice cream for boys who eat up all their lunch. Nice clean plates, that's what Granny likes to see.'

I think she's trying to be helpful.

Archie looks at her.

'And girls too?'

'Sorry, dear?'

'And Beth and Lottie can have ice cream, if they eat up?'

'Yes, dear.'

He looks at his plate.

'And can you just have ice cream, if you don't eat all of it?'

Gerald laughs.

'Good point, my boy, excellent. Negotiate, that's the thing. Now then, who's for more wine?'

'Nicholas loved jelly and ice cream when he was little. It was his favourite pudding.' Elizabeth is looking tearful now, and I don't think it's just the horseradish.

Oh God, here we go.

'Granny, did you know when monkeys want to do sex they wee on all the trees? It was on our programme.'

Elizabeth chokes slightly, and Lottie starts to giggle.

'Archie, I don't think that's a very nice thing to talk about at lunch.'

'Monkeys don't know it's not nice.'

'Archie.'

He sighs.

'I don't even like jelly.'

By the time we're trudging through the field towards the church I'm feeling very close to slapping someone, most probably myself for landing us with a family escort for what should be a quiet moment for the boys. Bloody hell. Elizabeth is seriously sulking now because Gerald said bugger after his fourth glass of wine, and she's been trying to get me to deliver Grace Harrison as her VIP guest at the next Golf Club dinner, and I've had to tell her that I think it's a bit of a long shot. Fiona's still trying to recover from the horseradish debacle, and James is having a long conversation about golf, mainly with himself. Everywhere is still soaking, and my boots keep sinking into the grass, but at least it's finally stopped raining as we climb over the stile and walk into the churchyard.

Jack's holding the letters and pictures in a plastic bag, and starts to go rather pale as we get a few yards away from Nick's grave. There are yellow tulips in the black marble vase at the bottom of the headstone, and a small bunch of roses.

Fiona coughs, very quietly.

'The roses are from the girls. We put them there earlier.'

I nod. I'm not sure I can actually speak just yet; it's such a shock, seeing the grave again. Jack puts his hand in mine and we move forwards and I bend slightly to put my flowers down, but they don't look right in their cellophane wrapping it's like Interflora have just made a special delivery or something so I kneel to take them out of the wrapper, getting wet knees in the process. Jack and Archie are now standing on either side of me. They seem much smaller and quieter than usual.

'There, that's better. You can put your letters on top of the flowers now if you'd like to, and your lovely pictures.'

They put their folded-up letters and pictures down very carefully, as Elizabeth walks towards us and starts rearranging the tulips.

'Shall we pop into church now and say a little prayer?'

'I think we'd like to just stand here quietly for a minute, if that's OK. You go ahead, though.'

Fiona and James head off towards the church with the girls and Gerald, while Elizabeth hesitates.

'I thought a prayer might be nice. Wouldn't you like to say a prayer for Daddy, Jack?'

Jack's starting to look tearful now. Bloody woman.

'Elizabeth, I think we'd like a moment on our own, if that's all right with you.'

In other words, bugger off, you old bag.

I put my arm around Jack and we walk towards the wooden seat under the tree in the corner of the churchyard.

'It's wet, Mum.'

'I know, love, but it doesn't matter, we've got our coats on. Let's sit down and have a cuddle.'

He smiles.

'How will Daddy see our pictures?' Archie's sounding rather shaky too.

Actually, I'm not sure I can do this. I don't know the right things to say; the magic words that will make it all right for them. Christ, this is so unfair. Why should they have to worry about how their dad will get to see the pictures they've just put on his grave? I hate this. I really hate it.

I put my arms around them.

'I think the important thing is that Daddy knows how much we love him.'

Jack nods.

'Let's keep cuddling for ages, shall we? I think we need a special big one, because my cuddle bank's nearly empty.'

They both snuggle in and I kiss them and they pretend to mind.

'Would you like to go into the church and say a prayer? We can, if you like.'

Jack seems to be considering this for a minute.

'No thanks, Mum. I think this is better, don't you?'

'Yes, I do, love.'

Archie snuggles in.

'We're cuddling for Daddy, aren't we?'

'Yes, love.'

'And then we can go home?'