I wanted to see if the kiss on the cheek had simply been a result of emotion and too much wine, or had it been something else? But Annie, starting to feel more like her old self, was able to join us for meals and drinks, and we sat there, the three of us, chatting away long into the night. The next couple of days rushed by in a blur. There was so much to organise, and I was constantly worried we had overlooked something or forgotten to invite a vital friend or family member. The day of the funeral dawned, though, and our planning seemed to have paid off. The turnout was large, as we had expected, and I was glad we had arranged for a caterer to deal with the wake – there’s no way Annie and Matt could have managed. Annie asked me to sit in their row for the service, so I did. I was on one side, Matt on the other, each grasping one of her hands. I hadn’t known Bertie, but I so wished I’d had. The eulogies painted a picture of a man so cheerful and vibrant, so kind and generous. Matt stood up and said a few words, mentioning his sister.
