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Gina lugged herself upright and took the tray from Cushla. She picked up a piece of toast and bit the centre, her mouth contorting in disgust as she chewed. It could do with more butter, she said.

Butter's bad for you, said Cushla.

It's so dry I'm more likely to choke to death than have a stroke...

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There is a proper way to grieve in the eyes of others: not too little, not too much. But there is a part of grieving that occurs behind the curtains, a part that is just for us and the deceased. And I suspect it is in this private communion, away from the crowd and the judgement, that we can find solace.

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