The arrival of the tiny coffin, accompanied by a shellshocked Delilah and Alan, the chrysanthemums spelling out the name 'Scarlet', the siblings, cowed and wide-eyed in their dark clothes, the reedy singing of 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' – all seem designed to break your heart.
Ruth feels the tears prickling at the back of her eyes but she does not let them fall. What right has she to cry over Scarlet?
The vicar, a nervous-looking man in white robes, makes a few anodyne remarks about angels and innocence and God's right hand. Then, to Ruth's surprise, Nelson steps forward to do a reading. He reads very badly, stumbling over the words, eyes downcast.
"I am the resurrection and the life", says the Lord.
"Those that believe in me even though they die, will live and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die."'
Ruth is reminded uncomfortably of the letters. The writer of the Lucy Downey letters would love this, all his old favourites are here: life, death, the certainty of the afterlife and a comforting pall of mysticism thrown over the whole. Did Cathbad write those letters? And, if so, why? To frustrate the police? She knows that Cathbad dislikes the police – and archaeologists too, for that matter – but is that enough of a reason? Where is Cathbad today?
Did he want to come, to comfort the woman he once loved, to comfort his daughter, Delilah's eldest, now weeping silently into her mother's hair?
At last it's over and the little white coffin passes so close that Ruth could almost touch it. She sees, again, that image of the arm hanging down, almost imagines that she can see it reaching out of the coffin, asking for her help. She shuts her eyes and the vision fades. The last hymn is playing, people are getting to their feet.
Outside, the rain has stopped and the air is cold and clammy. The coffin, followed by Scarlet's family, is driven away for a private cremation. The remaining mourners seem visibly to relax: talking, putting on coats, a couple of people lighting cigarettes.
Ruth finds herself next to the policewoman, who has a sweet, freckled face and eyes swollen with tears.
Ruth introduces herself and the policewoman's face lights up with recognition. 'Oh, I know about you. The boss has talked about you. I'm Judy Johnson, Detective Constable Judy Johnson.'
'You're the one who-' Ruth stops, not knowing if she should go on.
'Who broke the news. Yes. I've had the training, you see, and they like a woman to go, especially if there's a child involved.'
'Nelson… DCI Nelson, said you were very good.'
'That's kind of him but I'm not sure how much anyone could do.'
They are silent for a moment, looking at the undertaker's cars lining the road outside. Nelson is getting into one of the cars. He doesn't look round.
'See those people over there?' Judy indicates a grey-haired couple walking slowly away from the church. 'They're Lucy Downey's parents. You know the Lucy Downey case?'
'I've heard of it, yes. How do they know the Hendersons?'
'When Scarlet went missing, Mrs Downey contacted Delilah Henderson to offer support. They're lovely people.
Makes it even worse somehow.'
Ruth watches the lovely people as they walk past the rain-sleek cars. The woman, Lucy Downey's mother, looks old, grey-haired and round-shouldered. Her husband is more robust, he has his arm around her as if he is used to protecting her. How must they feel, attending this funeral when they have never been able to say goodbye to their own daughter? Do they, in some corner of their hearts, still think she is alive?
'Can I give you a lift home?' asks Judy.
Ruth looks at her, thinking of the drive back to Shona's house; Shona's solicitude, lightly tinged with curiosity, the night in the tasteful spare room.
'No thank you,' she says. 'I've got my car. I'm going straight home.'
And she does. She drives straight back to the New Road.
She knows she will have to go back to Shona's house to pick up her clothes but, at this moment, all she wants to do is go home. The marshes are grey and dreary under the lowering skies but Ruth is still unaccountably glad to be back. She parks in her usual spot beside the broken fence and lets herself in, shouting joyfully for Flint. He must have been waiting for her because he comes running in from the kitchen, looking ruffled and hard done by. Ruth picks him up, breathing in the lovely, outdoor smell of his fur.
The house is as she left it. David has obviously collected her post and put it in a neat pile. Flint seems fine so he must have remembered to feed him. The empty bottle of white wine is still on the table next to Nelson's abandoned coffee mug. The sofa cushions are on the floor. Blushing, Ruth picks them up and bashes them back into shape.
The post is mostly boring: bills, overdue library books, a flyer from a local theatre where Ruth went to see a play six years ago, charity appeals, a postcard from a friend in New York. Ruth leaves most of it unopened and goes into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Flint jumps onto the work surface and meows loudly. He must have been getting into bad habits. Ruth puts him back on the floor whereupon he immediately jumps up again.
'Stupid cat. What are you playing at?'
'Cats aren't stupid,' says a voice behind her. 'They have highly developed mystical powers.'
Ruth starts and swings round. A man wearing a muddy cloak over jeans and an army jacket stands smiling, quite at ease, at her kitchen door.
Cathbad.
Ruth backs away. 'How did you get in?' she asks.
"I came in when that man came to feed the cat. He didn't see me. I can make myself invisible, didn't you know? I've been watching the house for a while. I knew you'd be back.
This place has got quite a hold over you, hasn't it?'
The statement is disturbing on so many levels that, for a moment, Ruth can only stand and stare. Cathbad has been watching her house. He guesses, quite rightly, that the Saltmarsh has a hold over her. What else does he know?
'What are you doing here?' she says at last, trying to make her voice steady.
"I wanted to talk to you. Have you got any herbal teas?'
He gestures towards her mug. 'Caffeine's a poison.'
'I'm not making you a cup of tea.' Ruth hears her voice rising. "I want you to get out of my house.'
'It's natural for you to be upset,' says Cathbad kindly.
'Have you been to the funeral? Poor little girl. Poor, undeveloped soul. I've been sitting here sending positive thoughts to Delilah.'
'I'm sure she was very grateful.'
'Don't be angry, Ruth,' says Cathbad with a surprisingly sweet smile. 'We've got no quarrel after all. Erik says you've got a good heart.'
'Very kind of him.'
'He says you understand about the Saltmarsh, about the henge. It wasn't your fault the barbarians destroyed it. I remember you that summer, hand in hand with your boyfriend. It was a magical time for you, wasn't it?'
Ruth lowers her eyes. 'Yes,' she admits.
'It was for me, too. It was the first time I'd felt really at one with nature. Knowing that the ancients built that circle for a reason. Feeling the magic still there after all those centuries and being able to experience it, just for a short time, before it was gone forever.'
Ruth remembers something that always annoyed her about the druids, even in the old days. They felt that the henge was theirs alone, that they were the only heirs of its creators. We are all descended from them, Ruth wanted to say, it belongs to all of us. She still has no idea what Cathbad is doing here.
'What do you want?' she says.
'To talk to you,' says Cathbad again. He stoops and picks up Flint, who disgusts Ruth by purring loudly. 'This is a very wise cat,' he announces, 'an old soul.'
'He's not that bright,' says Ruth. 'My other cat was cleverer.'
'Yes. I'm sorry about what happened to her.'
'How did you know?' asks Ruth. 'How did you know about my other cat?'