I'm still at home in my nightie, searching for the church. My street directory seems to have lost most of the eastern suburbs. I flip to the cover – a 2001 directory – Christ, it's five years old! I haven't been to a church since Maria was married nearly twenty years ago, let alone this one, a bloody ferry and bus trip away. Oh why do people have to die, just when you can least afford the time? Can you hear yourself? spits the voice. The service has already started when I arrive. I sit down in a pew near the back of the church. It's hard to concentrate on the sad people speaking from the altar and in the rush I've forgotten to bring my glasses. Their faces all look alike, washed together in a soft blur. I think about a lot of things during the service. Because I ought to, I start with Gerald Bone, the guest of honour. Poor Gerald, I whisper, struck down in the prime of his life – a successful orthopaedic surgeon, the ex-husband of Maria. I haven't seen Maria for quite a while, perhaps ten years, because Guido doesn't approve of her.
