Rewind to two days before the funeral, his green Nissan Primera racing toward Ballycastle for the final time. But he’s not at the wheel, I’m the driver, my newly widowed mother beside me, still shell-shocked. Sister in the back seat, silent.

The motorway was crowded with delivery vans and people with places to be. We suddenly had a funeral to prepare for, and drove along in a bubble of silent devastation. Slightly envious of those people who had a normal day ahead of them.