‘Can we have the strawberry part?’ I said I’d ask.

By the time we reached the ice-cream shop, my phone held forty-three notifications.

I switched it to silent and placed it deep in my purse.

My father texted to say he had picked up our coats and her spare shoes from the church.

Elena said she would deal with the florist and wouldn’t let anyone demand an explanation from me.

Those practical offers of help meant more than the dramatic declarations of support that arrived from distant relatives.