“From what I gather from the good people who’ve looked after Josephine’s affairs, her own diary shows her to be witty, bright and full of life. And while she was someone not shy of a strong opinion, especially when it came to television schedulers or weathermen, her warmth and strength of character are what leap off the pages.”
Peggy squeezed Andrew’s hand and he squeezed back.
“Josephine may not have had family or friends around her when she died,” the vicar continued. “And today might well have felt like a lonely occasion. So what a wonderful thing it is to look out over so many of you who have given up your time to be here today. None of us can be sure at the start of our lives just how they will end, or what our journey there will be like, but if we were to know for sure that our final moments would be in the company of good souls such as yourselves, we would surely be comforted. So thank you. May I invite you now to stand and join me in a moment of contemplation.”
* * *
—
The service over, the vicar waited by the church door and took a moment to thank everyone individually for coming. Andrew even overheard him telling Bob that of course he’d love to pop over later “for a cuppa,” but saying he’d probably pass on the muffins. “But they’re massive!” Bob remonstrated. “You won’t get a bigger one for miles around, honestly.”
“I think he’s made about twenty new customers today,” Peggy said. “Good on him, the cheeky bugger.”
They strolled toward a bench and Andrew brushed away some fallen leaves so they could sit down.
“So, are you actually going to tell me how it went with Cameron?” Peggy said.
Andrew leaned back and looked up at the sky, watching a distant plane leaving the faintest of vapor trails. It felt good, stretching his neck like this. He should do it more.
“Andrew?”
What was there to say?
The conversation had been meandering and inconclusive. Cameron had been at pains to say how much he was on Andrew’s side, how if it was up to him he’d let the revelations from the dinner party go. But then he’d started to pepper what he was saying with phrases like “duty bound” and “following protocol.”
“You understand I have to say something?” he’d concluded. “Because, whatever the reasons for doing what you . . . did, it’s all still rather troubling.”
“I know,” Andrew had said. “Believe me, I know.”
“I mean, bloody hell, Andrew, if you were in my position, what would you do?”
Andrew had gotten to his feet. “Cameron, listen, I think you should do what your instincts tell you, and if that means reporting me to someone up the chain, or if it gives you a neat solution to the cutbacks issue were it to come up again, then I understand. I won’t hold it against you.”
“But—”
“Honestly. To have everything out in the open, to have been able to move on, that’s more important to me than keeping this job. If it helps you out with a tricky decision, then I’m genuinely fine with that.”
God, what a relief it had been to be able to speak as freely as this. To open himself up to new possibilities. He’d thought of Peggy’s campaign. The more they’d discussed it, the more energized he’d felt.
“Besides,” he’d said to Cameron. “It’s about time I finally figured out what I’m going to do with my life.”
* * *
—
Peggy brought him back to the present as she took his hand. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.”
Andrew shook his head. “No, we can. So, it looks like I’m going to be let go.”
“Oh my god,” Peggy said, clapping her hands to her mouth, eyes wide.
“But,” Andrew said, “Cameron has promised to try and find me a position in another department.”
“And you’ll go for it, you think?”
“Yes,” Andrew said.
“Right, well that’s . . . good,” Peggy said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.
“Though only temporarily,” Andrew said.
“Really?” Peggy said quickly, eyes searching Andrew’s. He nodded.
“I’ve been doing a bit of research. About charity funding. You need a fair wedge up front to start one, around five thousand pounds. But I have the money Sally left me. I’ve not had any better ideas about how to spend it, and I know she’d be really happy with me using it for something like this.”
Peggy was looking at him with such a strong mixture of confusion and excitement that Andrew had to stop himself from laughing.
“I’m talking about your campaign idea, just in case you weren’t quite there,” he said. “And I was thinking, maybe you could, you know, help me. See if we can make a proper go of it.”
“This is . . . Andrew . . . I don’t quite . . .”
“I’m not saying it’s definitely possible,” Andrew said. “We might fall at the first hurdle. But we can give it our best shot.”
Peggy was nodding at him very firmly. “We can, we absolutely can,” she said. “Let’s talk about it more over dinner tonight—if the offer’s still on, that is?”
“It very much is,” Andrew said. He’d found a new flat that morning—a chance spot on one of the four bewildering apps he’d downloaded—and even though it meant he’d have to move the following week he’d made the decision to do it on the spot. Part of him did feel a little sad about moving, but at least with Peggy’s coming around that evening he’d be able to see the old place off in style.
“Quick question,” he said. “You do like beans on toast, right?”
“My favorite, obviously,” Peggy said, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes, not sure if he was joking or not. “But right now, I don’t know about you, but I could murder a massive muffin.”
“Why not,” Andrew said. They held each other’s gaze for a moment.
He saw again her and the girls rushing down the platform toward him at King’s Cross, and his heart flickered once more with a sense of possibility.
He had given up on how he was going to broach the subject of whether Peggy had overheard him talking about his feelings for her in Rupert’s kitchen. He was just stupidly happy that she was there now, at his side, knowing everything there was to know about him. That, he realized, was more than enough.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my wonderful agent, Laura Williams. Words can’t express how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.
To Clare Hey at Orion and Tara Singh Carlson at Putnam. I am so lucky to be working with two such brilliant editors and publishers. Thanks for everything.
Thank you to everyone at Orion, especially Virginia Woolstencroft, Katie Moss, Harriet Bourton, Sarah Benton, Oliva Barber, Katie Espiner, Lynsey Sutherland, Anna Bowen, Tom Noble and Fran Pathak. And to all at Putnam, especially Helen Richard, Alexis Welby, Katie McKee and Sandra Chiu.
To the awesome Alexandra Cliff—I shall remember that phone call for a very long time. Also, to the brilliant Marilia Savvides, Rebecca Wearmouth, Laura Otal, Jonathan Sissons and everyone else at PFD.
To Kate Rizzo and all at Greene & Heaton.
Special thanks to Ben Willis for reading this at an early stage and giving me invaluable advice in a Camberwell Wetherspoons, and for being there for me from the beginning. So too has been Holly Harris (official). Thank you for everything, especially stopping me from going insane in Wahaca when I found out I was getting published. I am very lucky to call two such excellent people my friends.
To my good pals Emily “Half Pint” Griffin and Lucy Dauman. You’re the absolute best.
Thank you to Sarah Emsley and Jonathan Taylor—I couldn’t wish for two more kind, wise and good-natured people as mentors and as friends.
To the rest of the gang at Headline for being wonderful to work with, and whose celebratory messages to me the moment the news came out
gave me so much joy. Special thanks to Imogen Taylor, Sherise Hobbs, Auriol Bishop and Frances Doyle.
To the following, for their encouragement, support and advice: Elizabeth Masters, Beau Merchant, Emily Kitchin, Sophie Wilson, Ella Bowman, Frankie Gray, Chrissy Heleine, Maddy Price, Richard Glynn, Charlotte Mendelson, JJ Moore, Gill Hornby, Robert Harris.
To Katy and Libby—wonderful, supportive sisters. Love you guys.
Finally, to my mum, Alison, and dad, Jeremy, to whom this book is dedicated—this is all down to you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Roper is a nonfiction editor at Headline, where he works with authors such as James Acaster, Joel Dommett, Andrew O'Neill, and Frank Turner. How Not to Die Alone is inspired by an article he read about people whose job it is to follow up after people die alone. It is his debut novel.
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How Not to Die Alone Page 30