Reg finally tears his gaze from my face after an intense few moments and stares instead at Dad; he blinks as though he has only just realised he was there. 'Tony.' He moves swiftly forward and grasps my father's hand in a firm shake, just as he did with mine. 'Tony, it is so good to see you, old man. You're looking good. Very good, indeed.'
Dad looks over Reg's shoulder to exchange a glance with Alfred, who now eyes his uncle with uncertainty, as though suddenly afraid of him, forgetting even to swill his drink now.
'Terrible business, Tony, at the funeral,' Reg goes on, still not having relinquished his grip on Dad's hand. 'You know the only people I can think of who would do an atrocious thing like that, don't you?'
Dad says nothing and the group remains silent, almost holding their collective breath.
Reg leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, 'The Wakefields.'
There is an uncomfortable movement from everyone in the circle, and I am aware that the previous hum of voices around the room has dropped. Ears almost palpably strain from all directions to hear what Reg has to say next.
Alfred shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. 'Come on, Uncle Reg. Why don't we go and get something else to eat, eh? I think you're looking a bit pale there ...'
His uncle ignores him, still looking directly at my father's face. 'I say we go and fetch old Tom and go over there. See what's what.'
My father frowns with concern. 'Go over where, Reg?'
Reg's eyes widen as though it should be obvious. 'To the Wakefield house, of course! Where else?'
'But Reg. The Wakefield house is empty – derelict. Has been for years, remember? It burned down back in the nineties ... And Tom – he has passed now. After he retired from the police force.'
'Eh?' Reg's glassy eyes blink in confusion.
I get the impression he doesn't even know why he is really here. A gnawing sense that I should say something to change the subject grates on me, but I can't think of anything appropriate.
After a few awkward moments, and a glance around the room, the old man seems to recover himself a little. 'Well ... I just meant that – that they were a bad lot, that family ... I can't imagine how anyone could be so – so blunt as to bring up any of that business today. And for what reason?'
No one else seems to know what to say and Reg laments on out loud, 'Reminds me of Viv's funeral, this does ...'
Now I'm very glad I didn't try a subject change with a question about his wife's well-being; I had no idea she had passed away.
The Reverend pipes up now with one of his well-rehearsed lines of comfort, 'Ah now, Reg. You do know that the Lord who giveth must also taketh away.'
'I suppose.'
Reg sniffs and as he drifts across the room I think I see another layer of shine in his already watery-looking eyes.
Alfred gives us all a glance as though wondering if anyone will say anything about his uncle's behaviour, but no one does, so he saunters away after him.
The Reverend shoots Dad a knowing look and the briefest of nods and then says his goodbyes.
Afternoon turns into evening and people start leaving one by one. Now it is only the villagers my parents know the best that are left. Apart from Reg, who Alfred seemed to take home early. Eva wandered off upstairs over an hour ago and I assume she is chatting to her school friends online or so she said. Right now I miss her more than ever. I would like nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and keep her close.
Feeling fatigued, I move over to the buffet table and help myself to one of my mother's dry sandwiches with what might be sliced turkey inside. I find myself having to wash it down with more of my glass of wine than I would have liked and regret how light-headed it makes me.
Across the room, a woman in her fifties with bleached-blonde hair places two cups of tea in front of the pair of elderly women I saw Will talking to earlier.
It takes me a few moments before I recognise her as Dad's cleaner, Penny, who helps him prepare the house for new guests.
It is now that I realise, with a stab of anger, that she is wearing a vivid red blouse underneath her dark blazer jacket. Couldn't she have found something more neutral to wear to a funeral and wake? I'm not entirely sure why she was invited. Not that I remember her in the church at all. Although I remember that she was outside the doors when Dad arrived. Caught up in my own grief, I now can't remember where she was during the service. She definitely wasn't sitting on my row, or the one behind.
Penny disappears back into the kitchen again just as a strong pair of hands on my shoulders make me jump. I gasp and turn around to see Will, who gives me a weak smile.
'Don't do that,' I say. 'You scared me.'
His smile fades and he says seriously in a low voice. 'How are you doing? I have hardly seen you all afternoon.' He drops his voice to a whisper, 'I have been trying to get over to you for ages, but people keep talking to me and I can hardly even remember who they are. They seem to remember me, though.'
The first smile I have felt in weeks spreads across my face. 'I know exactly what you mean. I can't even think what most of their names –'
'Hannah, dear.'
My mother sweeps towards me all of a sudden, embracing me for what feels like the hundredth time in the last few weeks in one of her hugs. She draws back and Paul, her partner moves in and pulls me into an even more awkward embrace.
'Hello, Hannah,' he says.
Will catches my attention over Paul's shoulder and looks at me with smiling eyes. It is a recurring source of amusement to Will that Paul never misses an opportunity to greet me and depart without a hug when all he gets is a brief handshake.
Will still tries to catch my eye with his boyish smirk as Paul pulls away with a brief kiss on my cheek. I don't know how my husband can make light of anything today.
Everything feels unreal, like the world has been turned upside down and I am fighting hopelessly to keep my feet on the ground. All the people that attended the funeral pay their respects, express what a terrible loss we have suffered and then go home to carry on with their lives. I imagine they will put the kettle on in their cottages and settle in front of some mindless entertainment on the television. All the while, I keep expecting to see April walk in through the door, a picture of beauty, to illuminate the dreary room I find myself standing in. But she doesn't.
My mother puts her hands to her cheeks and shakes her head in her usual, over-dramatic fashion. Only today, she really does have something to be genuinely outraged by. 'Hannah, how did all this happen? I still can't believe it.'
'I know. Neither can I.'
I've said it so many times in the last few weeks, the words come out automatically. And I know the conversation will go exactly how it has done every other time, so I know exactly what Mum will ask next.
'Are you sure there isn't anything April said that you might have forgotten about? Anything at all?'
'No, Mum. I already told you, she didn't tell me anything. I hadn't really spoken to her for a while ...'
'What about her work friends? I spoke to a few earlier, but they seem even more clueless than you – would you believe!?'
'Imagine that ...' Will drawls sarcastically by my side. I don't glance at him, but I can tell he is trying to catch my eye again.