I collect the sympathy cards and drop them in the recycling bin, before moving onto the empty glasses and plates.
The last mourners left a few hours ago and the sky is black.
Mum had sobbed herself to sleep around 10. She still hadn’t accepted that there were no remains to bury, but I had. As soon as I heard the news that he was gone, I knew it was true.
“He was such a good man” they had muttered as they grasped my hands with their sweaty palms, looking into my eyes with mock sincerity.
The phone rings, deafening in the silence. I almost drop the plates, spilling coleslaw onto the rug.
I don’t know how many more of these calls and their endless outpouring of grief I can take.
I try to ignore it, but the noise starts to bore into my head.
“Hello”, I say wearily.