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They filed into the church. Frances tightened her grip on the urn, as though holding it closer might somehow keep her there a little longer. But she knew it was time. At the end of the aisle, the vicar, a man who had known her mum for the twenty-five years he’d preached at the church, greeted them.

With a last squeeze of the urn, as if she were giving her mum one last hug goodbye, she handed it over to him. He set it on a table beside a photograph of her mum and a vase of lilies.

As they took their seats in the front pew, Frances glanced around. The church was as full as her heart was heavy. Her uncle was noticeably absent, unable to make the trip from Canada for health reasons, apparently. A few rows back, she caught sight of Pete and Mandy and gave a small nod. They and Lucie were her family now, and she couldn’t ask for a more loving one.

Lucie blinked as she stepped from the church into the blinding sunshine with her dad and Mandy. She immediately looked back.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mandy said, putting an arm on Lucie’s back and urging her on. “Give her the time she’s asked for.”

Lucie nodded, knowing she was right, even if every instinct pushed against it.

“Are you coming to the pub for your lunch?” her dad asked.

“Yes. Why don’t you head back? I’ll sit with Gran and Mum while I wait.”

They said their goodbyes, and Lucie made her way over to the graves. She stood between them, each hand resting on a stone before taking a seat on the nearby bench.

A few minutes later Frances emerged from the church with a fractured smile as she said goodbye to the vicar. Even from a distance, Lucie could see the effort it was taking.

As she made her way over, she gestured for Lucie to stay seated.

“It feels odd leaving her behind in there,” Frances said.

Lucie took her hand and squeezed it as she sat beside her. There was nothing she could say, nothing that would make it better. All she could do was be there.

After Rose’s death, Frances hadn’t known what to do with the urn. Then came an attachment whereby she would move it with her from room to room, sometimes speaking to her mum as if she was still there. Friends who worked in grief counselling had reassured her it was part of the process, only a problem if she couldn’t function without it. Today was the test. Frances had handed it to the vicar with just the slightest hesitation.

“Shall we drop in on our new project before lunch?” Frances said suddenly.

“If you’re sure.”

Frances nodded. “I need something to focus on, and what better than our future?”

Her positivity made Lucie sigh out weeks of pent-up relief as they got to their feet. Finding each other’s hands again, they left the graveyard behind and made their way back out to the green. They walked a few yards along the path, before stopping outside the village hall.

Standing at the entrance took Lucie straight back to all the times she’d walked there, her small hand gripping her dad’s or her gran’s as she was dropped at preschool.

“I still can’t believe we own this,” Lucie said, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

“You better start believing it. We’re meeting the architect tomorrow. There’s a lot to do if you want to open in the summer.”

The sound of water dripping echoed in the distance.

Lucie waved a hand towards the surrounding walls as she circled the reception area. “I can see Gran’s old theatre programmes framed along here.”

“I think that would be perfect.”

They pushed through a set of double doors, one hanging slightly off its hinge and the other with its glass cracked, and entered the main hall.

The space felt smaller than she remembered. The ceiling appeared lower, the walls closer. She could almost hear the sound of shuffling feet, of loud, excitable voices, and the preschool teacher calling for quiet. The stage she’d performed on many times, that had ultimately directed the path of her life, still stood proudly at the far end, its curtain long gone.

“We used to sit there, cross-legged, every morning at preschool,” she said, nodding towards the scuffed, uneven wooden floor. “I hated it.”

Frances sniffed out a laugh. “I can’t imagine you sitting still for long.”

Lucie quietly chuckled as she led the way up a corridor off the hall and pushed open a classroom door. The damp, stale air hit her immediately. A patch of ceiling had given way in one corner, leaving a dark stain creeping down the wall. A stack of broken chairs leaned against it.