How to Say Goodbye

by Katy Colins

  Inoffensive, Linda had claimed as she’d roughly banged a nail into the wall when she went through the last redesign in here. It was marginally better than the daffodils in a watering can that had been there previously.

  ‘Black, no sugar. Thank you.’

  After he was seated, I went to get the necessary paperwork and made us both a drink, knowing neither would get touched but that at least it would be something to hold onto. As the coffee machine whirred to life I scanned Linda’s desk again, hoping for something other than just Callum’s name to inform me who he was here for. Usually the initial telephone call covered the details we needed, so I wouldn’t have to go over old ground, asking people to repeat fresh, painful information that burned their tongue. But there was nothing in amongst Linda’s doodled drawings, half-finished crossword puzzles and scribbled shopping lists.

  I returned to the room, bracing myself to ask Callum for the details of why he was here, again. He was hurriedly tapping out a message on his phone.

  ‘Here you go.’ I placed the mug on a coaster in front of him. He put his phone on the table and sat up straight. ‘So, Callum, will anyone else be joining you?’

  ‘My sister, Mel – er, she should be here actually. She’s always running late. I thought today, of all days, she’d be on time…’

  He cleared his throat again.

  ‘OK. Would you like us to wait for her?’

  He shook his head. ‘Let’s just get on with it.’

  I opened a fresh file and pressed down on a pen. ‘I’m very sorry but my colleague didn’t pass on the information you would have given her when you made this appointment. Are you OK to tell me who we are here for?’

  Callum clenched his jaw and absentmindedly played with his silver wedding band.

  ‘My wife. Abbie.’

  ‘And when did Abbie die?’

  ‘Sunday night. The twenty-fifth. Two days ago.’ He shook his head as if it had felt like a lifetime, not just forty-eight hours. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face as if forcing himself to wake up and focus. ‘She died in a car accident out by Rowberry Way.’

  Immediately I knew. The crash had been the talk of the Post Office. I’d overheard the girl behind the counter complaining to her colleagues that she’d had to take the long route in, as police had blocked the road to retrieve a car from a ditch. It was the Arctic cold weather, she said, and black ice on the road, combined with rows of hazardously placed oak trees lining the winding country lane. It was a death trap waiting to happen.

  People take that corner too fast all the time, someone said. There should be speed cameras or better lighting, someone else loudly agreed. Probably a teenage boy racer trying to impress a girl, an old lady said, to a collective murmur of agreement, as if a death sentence served him right for his stupidity. I’d bitten my lip, waiting for them to hurry up, wondering if I would be dealing with the arrangements. Now I was sitting opposite the man whose life had changed because of that night.

  ‘I just need to get some details from you, if that’s OK?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What’s Abbie’s full name?’

  ‘Abigail Sarah Anderson. But everyone calls her Abbie.’

  ‘Date of birth?’

  ‘Nineteenth of March. She’d only just turned thirty-three, last week.’

  A shiver trailed up my spine.

  We shared the same birthday.

  ‘Thanks.’ I tried to brush the surprise of this huge coincidence away, and turned back to the matter at hand. ‘Now I know this must all feel unreal, but do you have any thoughts at this stage of what sort of service you might like?’

  He fixed his blank, bloodshot eyes on mine as if I’d just asked him if he could solve an algebra equation using morse code. He shook his head.

  ‘The two options are cremation or burial. If you have an idea of which Abbie would have wanted, then we can focus on that?’

  He paused for a second before nodding his head assertively. ‘Cremation.’

  ‘OK. Now, there are a few things you’ll need to think about, such as the type of coffin you would like. In this brochure, you can see the caskets available, from wicker to cherry wood.’ I swivelled the thick guide over to him. ‘Callum, I know this is unbelievably tough. I just want you to know that whatever you want for the service – whatever Abbie would have wanted – is a possibility.’

  Callum didn’t speak, but scanned his tired eyes across the images, his hands repeatedly rubbing at the same patch of skin on his arm.

  ‘Can you tell me about Abbie?’

  For some families, all they wanted was to tell me every detail about their loved ones. For others, that question was the grenade that sent them hurtling out of the room, too tearful to carry on. I asked it so that I could hopefully pick up on the details they shared, to help them with some of the decisions they needed to make. So far, I knew that her birthday would make her an Aquarius, like me. My mum was into the whole star-sign thing, telling me that was why I was truthful and imaginative but could also be detached. I wondered if Abbie had similar attributes, or if it was a load of mumbo jumbo nonsense.

  ‘She just loved life. Hurricane Abbie, I’d call her. She was this… beautiful whirlwind.’ He swallowed and closed the brochure, stamping a thick hand over the front cover as if to block it out. ‘She travelled the world as a model. She’s gorgeous. She was, she is… Sorry, I’m getting confused with the right tense to use.’ He shook his head and sniffed loudly.

  ‘I’m here! I’m here!’ An explosion of wild, poppy-red hair burst into the room. ‘The door was unlocked so I just came in. Oh, Cal! I’m so sorry I’m late!’

  At the sight of his sister, I presumed, Callum shot to his feet and let her wrap her arms around him. A waft of sweet perfume came in with her.

  ‘I’ll give you two a minute,’ I said, getting to my feet.

  ‘No! I’ve already held things up. Sorry, I’m Mel, Callum’s sister.’ She offered her hand. It was warm and soft, and a collection of bangles clinked together as I shook it.

  ‘This is Grace Salmon,’ Callum said, using the heel of his hand to rub at his eyes.

  Mel flicked an odd look at her brother then smiled warmly at me. ‘Hello, Grace Salmon, I’m so sorry for being late. Finn just wouldn’t get his shoes on and then Noah needed a full nappy and outfit change. You should have seen the state of him. A proper poonami. Oh…’ She abruptly stopped chatting as if realising where she was. Her voice grew low and serious. ‘Oh god, sorry. Are there…’ She bobbed her head to the closed door and grimaced. ‘You know? In there…’

  Callum was swiping through his phone, apparently unaware of what his sister was trying to ask. I nodded, confirming that, in the room next door, separated by a flimsy wall, was a dead body. Or as I preferred it: Mr Sullivan.

  ‘Oh, right.’

  This was all she needed to compose herself and take a seat next to her brother, pulling her chair closer to his and unwinding a long, bobbly, mustard-yellow scarf from her neck. She was wearing a multi-coloured jumper with pompoms dangling from the cuffs of the bell sleeves. My sombre navy suit seemed even more dour in her sunshine light. She placed a hand on Callum’s and squeezed gently. His shoulders dropped a fraction at having her by his side.

  ‘There’s going to be an inquest, that’s what the police said,’ Mel said to me. ‘At first we didn’t know if we had to wait for that to happen before we planned the funeral, but then they said it could take months and that we were to go ahead.’

  I nodded. ‘Inquests can take a while, depending on the case or the backlog that the courts are dealing with. My advice is to try and put that to one side and focus on what you can control.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ she added. ‘No one was to blame. It’s not like there will be a trial or anything.’ I noticed Callum hadn’t moved his eyes from the carpet. ‘It was just a horrific accident. You don’t expect black ice at this time of year. But I guess they need to tick whatever boxes they have to tick.’
<
br />   ‘Hopefully it won’t take too long. Your most important job right now is to take care of each other and get through as best you can. Can I just ask, Callum, will you be the main point of contact or would a member of Abbie’s family like to be involved too?’

  ‘She didn’t have any siblings and her parents won’t be attending.’

  Mel must have seen the look on my face. ‘They weren’t very close, Abbie and her parents. They live in Borneo and rarely visit, too busy with their new life as prominent members of the Borneo Primates’ Committee to think about us. But they are arranging the catering for the wake, so that’s something, I guess.’

  Callum turned to his sister. ‘We need to pick a coffin.’

  ‘Oh, right, of course. Well…’ Mel struggled not to purse her lips. ‘The most expensive, knowing Abbie.’ Callum flashed her a look that silenced her immediately.

  ‘We’ll go for this one.’ He stamped a thumb on the image of the standard light oak coffin. I wondered if Mel had clocked that it wasn’t the most expensive one.

  ‘Do you think you’d like something to go in the local paper? An obituary notice?’

  ‘Does anyone even read them?’

  ‘Well, it will be online and in the actual paper. It’s a good way of letting local people know, especially if you have any requests when it comes to flowers or donations.’

  ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.’ Mel spoke for her brother.

  ‘No problem. Regarding timings, I will need the text sent to the paper by Wednesday – tomorrow – for it to appear in Friday’s edition. If you’re happy with that, then in terms of dates, I think we’ll be looking at the funeral to take place about a week or so after that. Possibly the Monday or Tuesday. Do you have a preference for which day or time?’ They both looked at me blankly. ‘Some people like a morning slot and others prefer for later in the day so guests can arrive if they are travelling some distance.’

  ‘Let’s go for Monday. It’s already the most depressing day of the week,’ Mel said, as Callum nodded in agreement. ‘I think morning would work best. You don’t want to be waiting around all day…’ Better to get it over with, Mel looked like she wanted to say.

  ‘The ninth, then. I’ll run it past the crematorium guys then give you a call to confirm so you can start telling people.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Have you been to many funerals? I just wondered if there was anything that you had experienced before that you might like to recreate?’

  Mel took a breath. ‘Well, our mum –’

  ‘No.’ Callum immediately cut his sister off and flashed her a warning look. ‘We’re not regular funeral-goers.’

  The room fell silent.

  Mel caught my eye and bit her lip. ‘Can we leave it here for now? There’s a lot to take in, we’re still just getting our heads around the fact it’s even happened.’

  ‘Of course.’ I closed the file softly.

  ‘It still feels like we’re all in a daze,’ Mel added, getting to her feet.

  ‘It’s bound to feel that way but you’ve given me a lot of really helpful information already, so I can make a start.’

  I watched as Mel linked an arm through Callum’s and helped steer him out, chatting about going to grab a coffee before she needed to get to the childminder’s. Mel flashed a look of gratitude back at me. I could see how desperately she wanted to do or say the right thing. Her broken-hearted brother looked as if he was on auto-pilot, wanting to be told where to go and what to do, in order to not have to think too deeply about how his life had changed in a split second.

  Chapter 5

  ‘“Ask A Funeral Arranger,”’ read Frank. ‘“Everything you wanted to know but were afraid to ask.” I think it has a great ring to it. I hope you get the outcome you deserve.’ He smiled, looking again at the printout of the e-flyer I’d created and posted on our Facebook page. ‘I have to say I was surprised that our resident wallflower would be hosting an event like this.’

  You can say that again.

  ‘It’s good to try something different every now and then.’ I was convinced my over-the-top laugh belied how I really felt.

  Since I’d decided to throw caution to the wind and invite perfect strangers to the back room of a church hall, I had to continue with this fake bravado. I’d spent ages writing and re-writing the perfect welcome speech, succinctly summing up my job role and what we offered to those who got their affairs in order with us. As long as I had those index cards in my hands I would be OK, or so I kept telling myself. Sadly, Frank couldn’t make it, and Friday nights were Linda’s regular girls’ night to drink one too many Malibu and cokes and watch the burly men of the Red Lion play darts. I’d seen her Facebook statuses. To be honest, I was grateful that she wasn’t able to pop down. I didn’t need her judging me from the sidelines. I was already a little wound up at the way her eyes had rolled and her painted lips had curled up at the edges every time Frank had mentioned tonight.

  It had seemed so simple to put the evening together but, in reality, it had taken a lot more work than I’d imagined. First, I’d had to find a suitable – and free – venue. There were fire exits, disabled access and general health and safety to think of. I had followed Ms Norris’s idea of baking a selection of some of my favourite cakes, but I didn’t want to isolate anyone with dietary restrictions so had spent several evenings trapped in the kitchen making sure I would please any gluten-free, dairy-intolerant vegans who might attend. Maybe Linda’s approach of just cold-calling potential customers would have been easier. It certainly would have been quicker, and saved me a small fortune in ingredients. I just knew there was no way I’d have been able to pick up the phone to a stranger and encourage them to sign up to their funeral in the effortless way she did it.

  ‘Best of luck tonight, Grace. I have to say I can’t wait to hear how you get on!’ Frank smiled.

  I felt my stomach do a tiny flip of anticipation.

  *

  Maybe the clock on the wall was wrong. It looked like it had been there for some time, after all. In fact, the whole of the room could do with a bit of TLC. No wonder they’d let me hire it for free. My eyes strayed to the peeling paint chips and scuffed wooden tables. I’d tried my best to get rid of the musty smell in here with the air freshener I’d brought with me, but it hadn’t managed to do the job. I re-checked my watch, which was showing the same time as the clock, and kept my gaze on the doors, waiting for them to open, shifting on an uncomfortable seat.

  The circle of identical red plastic chairs that I’d painstakingly heaved into position around me were all empty. The only sound was the loud ticking of the annoyingly correct wall clock and my feet nervously tapping on the faded lino.

  The trestle table I’d set up at the front of the room, under the stained glass window, was full of untouched cakes, neatly laid out biscuits and chilled cartons of orange juice, alongside fanned out forms and free pens. Two balloons with our company logo on bobbed forlornly over the floor, mocking me and this seemingly stupid idea.

  I’d been sitting there for the past twenty minutes, psyching myself up whenever the flash of headlights swiped past the window. I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook away the tears threatening to prick my eyes. Someone had to show up, surely? Not even in my wildest nightmares about holding this event did no one turn up. But that was how it appeared to be.

  I sighed loudly. Maybe I should have done more to get the word out? When I’d posted about it on our Facebook page it had received a couple of likes, which had foolishly buoyed my confidence. I thought the residents of Ryebrook would be queuing up to ask me something. Maybe I should have booked a different location? Taken a stall at the library, or had a table set up in the atrium of Asda instead? Perhaps I should have chosen to hold it on a different day of the week. People clearly didn’t want to think about their own funeral on a Friday night.

  I told myself to give it another five minutes then call it quits. Linda’s face would be painful when she heard what a disaster it had been,
but not as painful as sitting in an empty church hall on my own, listening to the clock hands ticking by.

  When the tediously slow five minutes were up, I wearily got to my feet and pulled out the Tupperware boxes to pack away the homemade cakes. Maybe there was a homeless shelter I could go and drop them off at. Someone should benefit at least.

  Suddenly I heard faint footsteps, followed by the creak of the door opening.

  ‘Ah, Grace! Sorry I’m late –’ the familiar voice chimed, then stopped. She glanced around the room. ‘Am I late? Or am I early?’

  ‘Evening, Ms Norris!’ I couldn’t help but smile at her. ‘You’re right on time. Come on in.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if I could make it, which is why I didn’t mention it to you earlier. I had to see if Alma would watch Purdy for me, you see, and Alma is a bit of a stickler for a routine,’ she babbled, taking off her coat and laying it on an empty chair. ‘A bit like you, actually,’ she chuckled.

  ‘Well, it’s great to see you. Help yourself to some cake or a drink. You, er, you didn’t see anyone else out there did you?’

  ‘No dear, I’m afraid I didn’t.’

  My heart sank. Stay positive, Grace.

  ‘I’ll just go and have a final check.’ I jogged to the creaky doors, out to an empty corridor, and peered through the main doors. Ms Norris was right; not a soul in sight.

  ‘So, erm, thanks again for coming. Possibly it’s the weather keeping others away…’

  At that exact moment, the thin window frames, dripping in condensation, gave an almighty rattle.

  ‘These are delicious,’ she grinned as crumbs of chocolate brownie fell on her plum-coloured skirt.

  I couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s your recipe. I have to say that using a dash of cayenne pepper really worked.’

  ‘It’s been my secret ingredient for many years.’ She tapped a finger to the side of her nose.

  I glanced at the clock. Seven thirty-five. We had this room for another twenty-five minutes. I couldn’t pack away now; she’d made such an effort to brave the outdoors to attend.