After the Funeral

by Gillian Poucher

  Julia passed over the tissues silently. She wanted to say that Frances sounded a little mad too, but it was hardly professional. What chance had this poor girl had with a mentally unstable mother, a weak father, and a manipulative step-mother who sounded like the worst kind of Bible-basher? She suppressed an impulse to cross over to her client and hug her again, wary after Grace’s earlier identification of her as a mother figure. ‘I am so sorry, Grace,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘So very sorry. I’m wondering how you felt when Frances said this?’

  Grace blew her nose. ‘I felt sick,’ she said bluntly. ‘That’s when I began to wish Frances and Suzanne dead.’

  There was a long silence. The postgraduate student raised her chin, looked straight at Julia. ‘Now you see what a terrible person I am. Probably insane like my mother.’

  ‘Who sees you as a terrible person, Grace?’ Julia asked gently.

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’ve just told you I wanted Frances and Suzanne dead! You know,’ she plunged on, ‘Mary had the chance to have Elizabeth executed in 1554. There was a plot to prevent Mary marrying Philip of Spain, have her put to death, and then crown Elizabeth as a Protestant queen. The Wyatt rebellion. If I’d been Mary, I know I’d have taken the chance to get rid of Elizabeth, given how I feel towards Suzanne. I tell you, I’m as mad as my mother!’ She tossed her plait over her shoulder, still staring fiercely at Julia as if daring the counsellor to contradict her.

  The older woman suppressed a shudder. She knew it was vital not to seem judgemental. But there was a darkness in Grace’s blue eyes which chilled her. The set lines of the younger woman’s face made her seem almost ugly for a moment. Julia glanced down, picking at some lint on her black trousers.

  ‘You’re telling me that you relate closely to your research subject?’ She knew she was ducking the issue by focusing on the academic.

  ‘Yes.’ Grace’s features relaxed. She spoke for a few moments about her research, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

  Julia let her talk. She knew she should draw her client back to explore her feelings towards her step-mother and half-sister, and her belief that she had inherited her mother’s mental illness. She knew too that her supervisor would probe her reluctance to enter the dark place Grace had unveiled. Her client’s preoccupation with discussing her research was clearly an avoidance tactic which Julia should challenge.

  Lost in her thoughts, it took a moment for Julia to register that Grace had stopped speaking. Her client was looking at her nervously, fiddling with her plait again. Julia realised she was waiting for a response. She bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t catch that last bit. The rain.’ She gestured towards the window, where a timely gust of wind lashed the rain against the glass.

  Grace pulled her plait in front of her face, studying it for split ends. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered.

  ‘Yes, it does. Whatever you tell me, Grace, is really important.’ Julia held her breath. Had she missed something vital?

  Her client glanced at her. ‘I just said I miss him so much,’ she whispered. She looked away again.

  ‘I know,’ said Julia. Self-disclosure had been discouraged in her person-centred training, but Grace’s story had touched her deeply. She had been thinking more about her own father since James’s outburst that Saturday night. ‘My father died when I was eight. What you experienced, that withdrawal of your father, the rejection you felt, is a terrible loss.’

  Grace frowned and a flush spread over her high cheekbones. ‘I wasn’t talking about my father,’ she said, a new edge to her voice. ‘You weren’t listening, were you?’

  Julia swallowed, clenching her fists in her lap. Never in the eight years since she had started training had she allowed herself to be so preoccupied in the presence of a client. ‘I’m so sorry, Grace. I was distracted. You’re right, I missed that. Please do tell me again, we’ve still got a few minutes.’

  ‘Your brochure promised attentive listening.’ Grace stood up and began to button her coat, not looking at her counsellor.

  ‘I know. I do apologise. It’s unlike me, I’m afraid I…’

  Grace withdrew the cash for the session from a magenta purse. Her fingers trembled as she zipped it up. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to talk any more today anyway.’

  ‘Grace, I…’

  ‘Don’t worry, I realise you must get tired of hearing people talking about their problems all the time,’ Grace’s voice was cold. She threw the money on to the table beside the tissue box. ‘It’s just a job for you, isn’t it? I suppose you see me as just another sad person needing fixing.’ She moved across to the door, pausing with her back to Julia. ‘Forget what I said about feeling like you were my mother,’ she added, in a strangled voice. ‘Does it make you feel good about yourself, thinking you’re sorted in comparison with the rest of us?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’ Julia rose. ‘Please don’t go like this, Grace, I can’t apologise enough.’

  To her horror, Julia felt tears rising. She blinked them away. Grace yanked the door handle.

  ‘Don’t expect me back next week,’ she flung over her shoulder. The door slammed behind her.

  Julia paced the office, dashing away tears, miserably aware of failing the fragile young woman. She wondered too how she was going to explain her inattention to her supervisor, pushing away the thought that at this moment in time it was irresponsible of her to be working.

  –  CHAPTER 16  –

  ‘So she’s tried to get in touch with James too?’ Julia emptied a sachet of brown sugar into her black americano.

  ‘Yes. We think so.’ Clare took a sip of green tea. She nodded towards Julia’s large white cup. ‘Not like you to drink coffee. And a grande at that.’

  ‘I need the caffeine.’ Julia sipped the steaming brown liquid. ‘I wondered if she would try and contact James,’ she resumed. ‘But he wasn’t around when she went to the uni?’

  ‘No. He went AWOL for a couple of days early last week, said he had ’flu or something, when we – you know…’ She bit her lip. ‘Anyway, when he went in on Thursday the secretary said this woman had been in asking for him. “Very colourful, rather agitated” was how the secretary described her. James didn’t think anything of it at the time. He’d forgotten her from the funeral, but when he saw her on Saturday he guessed it was her. Sounds like she’s definitely trying to get to know us, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does.’ Julia looked out of the window, misted with condensation on the wet February morning. Would Linda have told James more than she had told her about the family secret she had alluded to?

  ‘Poor Aunt Ada,’ Clare went on. ‘I wonder if she will regain consciousness? It’s been six days, and with every day that passes, they say the chances become less likely. And if she does come round, who knows what damage the stroke has done?’

  ‘It’s awful.’ Julia stirred her coffee around with the wooden stirrer. ‘Did you get the impression Linda had a grudge against her?’

  ‘Aunt Ada?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Clare wrinkled her snub nose. ‘The woman was drunk. You said you thought she was strange at Emily’s funeral. She might just be around to cause trouble. Or maybe she’s mentally ill?’

  Julia pondered, tapping the stirrer against the white saucer. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But I thought she had something personal against Aunt Ada. From what I can gather, I don’t think she had anything against Mother.’

  ‘But it’s odd Emily never mentioned her to you and James, isn’t it?’ Clare folded a brown paper napkin into four squares. ‘I’ve wondered if maybe she had some kind of hold over your mother?’

  ‘Oh, surely not!’ Julia’s tone was sharper than she had intended.

  Clare raised a plucked blonde eyebrow. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it again.

  ‘What?’ asked Julia. ‘What were you going to say?’

  Clare toyed with the n
apkin again, avoiding eye contact. ‘Well, it must have crossed your mind that Emily’s illness began around the same time Linda arrived on the scene?’

  Julia frowned, flicking a cake crumb from the square table. The same suspicion had played in her mind ever since the snowy Saturday afternoon at her mother’s cottage, planted there by Edith. But she was in no doubt about Linda’s grief, remembering her irritation as the tears slid down Linda’s cheeks at Giuseppe’s.

  ‘I don’t think so. She seemed genuinely upset about Mother’s death.’

  Clare changed tack. ‘But if as you say she had some grudge against Ada, what could that be?’ She leaned forward across the table. ‘And if Ada dies, I can’t help thinking this woman is morally responsible. She gave her such a terrible shock. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Julia recalled the unexpected sympathy she had felt for her difficult aunt, crumpled in her wheelchair.

  ‘I know Aunt Ada’s not exactly anyone’s favourite relative, but she is family, isn’t she?’

  Julia grimaced. ‘But that’s what Linda claims too, isn’t it? That she’s family?’

  ‘Only some distant cousin though. Maybe she’s just lonely. She doesn’t have any children, does she?’

  ‘She’s never mentioned any, but I don’t really know much about her to be honest. And that still doesn’t explain her hostility towards Ada.’ Julia remembered Ada’s gasping words. She shuddered, picturing the old woman’s contorted face.

  ‘What is it?’ said Clare.

  ‘Just Ada’s last words. Before they took her in the ambulance, I mean. Didn’t you hear what she said?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She said, “I never told her he was alive.” I don’t know if she understood what she was saying, or if she felt guilty about something.’

  ‘Something to do with Linda?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so. Anyway,’ Julia looked across at her sister-in-law, ‘we’re not here to worry about Linda.’ Although she’s certainly been worrying me, she thought, along with everything else. It had taken all her resolve to meet Clare as arranged this Friday morning. She had woken with a headache after another broken night’s sleep. But Clare was a friend as well as a sister-in-law, and with no clients booked in for the day, she felt she should manage the eleven o’clock coffee. ‘How are you and James really?’

  Clare sighed. She looked calm enough, but Julia noted the pallor beneath her carefully applied make up, how she was scrunching up the napkin. ‘Not great. James says he’s given up this student, and I believe him. But I can’t help wondering, have there been others? Will there be others? Can I ever trust him again?’ Her voice wobbled and a tear slid down her face. She brushed it away impatiently.

  Julia remained silent, waiting for Clare to compose herself. After a moment her sister-in-law continued, ‘What I’m really struggling with is that this affair might have been going on whilst we had our last round of IVF. I mean, how could he do that?’ She looked over at Julia, her almond eyes haunted.

  ‘Do you think it had been going on so long?’ countered Julia. She calculated that it was nearly three months since their last unsuccessful course of fertility treatment.

  ‘He hasn’t said so.’ Clare twisted her wedding ring round. ‘But he hasn’t said not, either.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  Clare nodded. ‘He was angry. Asked me why I wanted to know, when he’d already admitted the affair.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Not that he had much choice, after the woman rang home that Saturday and I confronted him when he came back.’

  ‘Did she say something on the phone that made you suspect?’

  ‘She didn’t need to.’ Clare’s raspberry lips settled into a thin line. ‘She spoke as soon as I picked up the phone without giving me chance to say hello. “James,” she said, “please can you come. I’m sorry about last night. I really need to see you. Today.”’

  ‘What an awful way for you to find out! What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing. I stood there for what felt like ages but was probably just a minute or two. In shock, I suppose. Then she said, “James? James?” Her voice was frightened, she’d probably realised it wasn’t James on the other end of the phone. Then she hung up.’

  Julia groaned, shaking her head. ‘You poor thing.’ She hesitated, picking up the stirrer again. She tapped it against the white saucer. ‘But, and I know this doesn’t exonerate James in any way, he did say when he came round on Sunday morning that he had gone round to finish with her that afternoon.’

  Clare shrugged. ‘Yes. That’s what he told me too. But I’m not sure it makes it any better, does it? Like you say, it doesn’t exonerate him for having the affair in the first place.’ She raised her cup to her lips again.

  ‘No.’ Julia hesitated, thinking of what else James had told her, about the strain of the IVF. ‘There’s something else James told me,’ she said carefully, ‘and again I don’t think for a moment it excuses his affair at all. But he was trying to give some kind of reason.’

  ‘Really? What’s that?’ Clare stared at her.

  Julia took another sip of coffee. She regretted raising the topic, thinking that it might cause her sister-in-law more pain. ‘He said what a strain he’d found the IVF,’ she said flatly.

  Clare slammed her cup down on her saucer. Tea splashed across the table. ‘He found it a strain!’

  The couple at the adjoining table glanced across as Julia grabbed a napkin and stemmed the flow of green liquid trickling towards her. Clare bit her lip, before continuing in a low but still furious voice, ‘He should try being the woman in the process! Injecting yourself, taking all the drugs, wondering how many eggs are going to be ready, if you’re damaging your body in the long run – have you seen the stats for increased risk of ovarian cancer? OK, they’re not high, but they’re still there. Honestly, Julia, you have no idea what I’ve been through! Month by month veering between hope and disappointment, then two cycles of this invasive treatment. All for nothing!’

  ‘I know. I’m so sorry. Like I said, I’m not trying to defend James, but…’

  ‘But nothing!’ snapped Clare. ‘It sounds as though you were!’ She eyeballed her sister-in-law. ‘You’ve never wanted a child, have you? And even with your precious empathy as a counsellor, you can’t begin to know what it feels like to want one so desperately.’

  Suddenly Julia found it difficult to breathe. She seemed to see her sister-in-law’s flushed face and flashing eyes from a distance. Her blood was thrumming in her ears. She had a peculiar sense of dissociation, as if she were outside herself, looking on. Suddenly a voice she hardly recognised as her own screeched, ‘Of course I wanted a child! You stupid self-obsessed cow, I do know what it feels like!’

  Then she was weeping noisily, her breath coming in juddering gasps. She was aware of other customers turning to stare at them. The colour had drained away beneath Clare’s blusher. One of the staff wearing the uniform red polo shirt and black skirt hurried across. She pointed at the name badge pinned to her ample bosom by way of introduction: ‘Shirley. Assistant Manager.’ Still in her strange detached state, Julia heard the woman say politely but firmly, ‘Excuse me, ladies, could you calm down or leave please? You’re disturbing the other customers.’

  Scrambling to her feet, Julia snapped, ‘Don’t worry, I was just going.’ Without looking back at Clare, she grabbed her black leather bag from under the table and dashed towards the door.

  A woman was struggling to manoeuvre a red buggy inside the coffee shop. In her haste to leave, Julia pushed past, bumping her leg against the pushchair. She didn’t stop to apologise, even when the mother called, ‘Hey! Watch where you’re going! He was asleep!’ The infant began to scream.

  Outside she realised her legs were shaking. Not wanting Clare to catch up with her, she turned left into a small precinct, leaning against the window of a discount store to catch her breath.

  That was when she saw them, coming out of the baby store diagonal
ly opposite. The man was laden down with bags. As they emerged from the shop he reached his hand round the woman’s heavily pregnant belly. Even above the piped tinny music, Julia could tune into the deep well-bred voice she knew so well. ‘Hey, little girl, did you know you’re already costing us a fortune?’

  Without a moment’s thought she covered the few yards between them. They both saw her at the same time, and she saw Lisa’s questioning frown change into alarm. Instinctively Greg stepped forward, shielding his partner. Julia struck him across the face with the flat of her palm. ‘It should have been me!’ she screamed. ‘It should have been my baby!’

  He stared at her as the red handprint spread across his cheek. ‘You mad bitch,’ he hissed. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  She hit him again, this time across the mouth. ‘And that’s my money you’ve spent! Money you owe me for the mortgage!’ She made a lunge at the carrier bags, with some mad idea of taking them back into the shop and demanding a refund, but he held on to them tightly and swung them out of reach.

  ‘Greg, are you all right? Shall I call the police?’ Lisa was crying. Her hands cradled her bulging stomach.

  Julia was appalled to see the fear in the younger woman’s eyes. Her fury evaporated as suddenly as it had risen.

  ‘Greg,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘Greg, I’m sorry, I –’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ he said. He raised his hand to his mouth and looked in disbelief at the blood on his fingertips. ‘You’ve lost it, Julia.’ He bent towards her, his face close to hers. His dark eyes bored into hers so coldly that she shivered. ‘Go away. Stay away, Julia. I never want to see you again. If you come anywhere near me, or Lisa again, I’ll call the police. It’s over. Got that?’

  She nodded dumbly. He put his arm round Lisa’s shoulders. ‘Come on, darling,’ he said. ‘Let me get you home. We’re done here.’

  Neither of them looked back as they exited the precinct. After a few moments Julia followed. Disorientated, she wandered around the car park, unable to remember where she had parked the Mondeo. When she eventually found it, she was soaked through from the relentless rain. She drove home in a daze, remembering nothing of the journey when she drew up outside her cottage. Her head was throbbing and she felt chilled to the bone.