Jacob sees the gesture and gets up, using a paper napkin to clean his hands of any crumbs before approaching. She says it isn't religious, but it does seem sacred, and he knows those are two separate things.

He kneels with her, between the sofa and the coffee table, still watching as she changes over the candle.

"It is. Good to remember them, I mean. And hope they are happy." Healthier than they were. What sort of man would Jack be, if he hadn't been so ill? If the madness hadn't consumed him? Happy. Wild, a bit like Jacob had been, charming too. Probably in trouble every other minute.

He finds that there's gathering tears in his eye, and he doesn't trust himself to speak again before he wipes the moisture away.