Both the hospital and EasyDeath had lied. It was impossible that those ashes in the box on the mantelpiece were my father’s because here he was still clinging to life, looking for fish in a low river with my mother and a bunch of friends on a beautiful summer’s day.

Granted, my father gave a good impression of popping his clogs in December 2018, but in reality he had just slipped into a very deep coma. I dreaded the coming months and being forced to endure the trauma of my father’s decline and death for a second time.