by Katy Colins
I was half listening to Marcus as well as keeping an eye on the lady.
‘Like I said, school hasn’t been so bad. My mam even said that I –’
A loud, painful howl of a sob emanated from the woman. My eyes darted to Ms Norris. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d only ever been in a one-on-one situation with someone this upset, and we’d been sat in a calm, relaxed office, not a draughty church hall that suddenly felt even mustier and more imposing than ever. I nodded at Marcus to get her a glass of water, which he dutifully did. I think he was grateful to have something to do. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Deano had hunched his body together and was staring fixedly at his hands, as she let out another painful howl.
‘Oh, lovey. It’s OK, you can talk to us. That’s what we’re here for.’ Ms Norris was gently patting her on the shoulder and making soothing noises.
‘Here, try and have some of this.’ I nodded my thanks to Marcus and passed the glass to the woman who took it, spilling some on the fabric of her jeans. ‘Can you tell us your name?’
‘Ju-Ju-Julie.’
‘Hi, Julie, I understand that you’re very upset right now. I just want you to know that we’re here to help,’ I said.
Julie nodded. Well, I think she did, her chest was rising and falling so drastically.
‘Why don’t we start by doing some deep breathing? It will be easier for you to speak to us?’
I began, sounding a little like Darth Vader as I encouraged Julie to slow down her breathing. Thankfully the other group members began to participate and soon everyone was copying me.
‘Great, now try and tell us what it is that’s upsetting you. It’s OK, take your time.’
Julie took a deep breath. ‘My mum died recently and well, I’m in charge of selling her house. It’s just all been a nightmare! I have no idea how to get started or what to d-d-do…’
‘I’m sorry. Do you have any other relatives who could help?’
She shook her head. ‘It was only me and her. And now she’s gone.’ She gulped at another breath that juddered through her skeletal chest.
‘OK, has anyone else in the group been through something similar? It might help Julie to hear some advice on what to do next?’ I asked the others hopefully.
My stomach fell, taking in their blank faces.
‘When do you need to get it done by? Is there a deadline?’ Raj asked softly.
’N-n-not really, I’ve just been p-putting it off. I tried to make a start but I found it so traumatic I just locked the door behind me and haven’t been back since. I know I need to, but it’s just so overwhelming. It’s only a small bungalow and a lot of the stuff is very dated; she was of the generation that believed things were to be used until they were worn away.’ A small flash of a smile lit up her pale face for a second. ‘Of course there’s the sentimental things, but nothing of great value.’
‘But priceless to you.’ Ms Norris bobbed her head understandingly.
‘I’ve got a van that I could bring round? Well, where I work has one that I’m sure I can borrow for a bit,’ Deano offered. ‘Happy to help you shift a few of the bigger things if you like?’
‘I volunteer at a charity shop and they’re always looking for donations; they can even come and collect if that helps?’ Ms Norris clasped her hands together.
‘I have plenty of boxes from the shop that just need taping back together,’ Raj suggested.
‘If you need someone to go through the legal aspect of things, I know a few contacts through work that we’ve directed people to before.’ I felt like I wasn’t offering as much as the others. It was the only thing I could think of.
‘Wow. Really?’ Julie was now crying but these tears were more of gratitude and joy at the kindness of strangers than of raw wounds being sliced open.
By the end of the session everyone had swapped phone numbers with Julie and made plans to help her. I said my goodbyes and grabbed the box of topic ideas that, I noticed, was filling up nicely.
Chapter 16
Before heading home I decided to pop to the few locations I had in mind to stick up my laminated posters about Ask A Funeral Arranger. I had a stack at home that I would take to the library, doctor’s surgery and retirement homes over the weekend. I’d forgotten to ask Julie how she’d found out about the session. She had left with the slightest hint of colour back in her sallow cheeks. I allowed myself to feel a surge of pride at how everyone had pulled together, genuinely wanting to help her out. I really hoped she would be back to let us know how she was getting on. It had certainly spurred me on to spread the word on ways our funny little group could help others.
I stuck larger posters on a couple of lampposts, then headed to the old-fashioned wooden noticeboard on the high street. It was a little trickier than I had expected to reach the empty space at the top. I didn’t want to have to move a poster for a church tea or the next gathering of the local running club, but I was too short to hold my poster in the right spot and pin it down. Beads of sweat made themselves known as I struggled on my tiptoes.
‘Hey!’
My hand froze. Was it illegal to put up flyers? I must admit I hadn’t done much research into the legalities. I just figured the noticeboard was for all the residents to make use of. But maybe there was some sort of committee I needed to get permission from first?
‘Hey!’
The gruff voice grew louder. A wave of anxiety washed over me. Someone from the neighbouring flats must have spied me from their windows. Could I be arrested for public damage? My hand froze in mid-air. My breath was trapped in my throat. I dared not move a muscle. I could hear raspy breaths getting closer. Coming out of the darkness was a tall frame of a man, stumbling slightly as he zig-zagged over to me. He was awkwardly holding a torch, the beam dancing unsteadily on the pavement as he moved towards me.
I instinctively grabbed my Safest Bag In The World™ tighter to my chest and mentally ran through the defence steps I’d seen on This Morning when I’d been off with tonsillitis two years ago. A wave of adrenalin coursed up my body. All the advice from Holly and Phil dissolved from my terrified mind. Was it to knee them in the genitals and bite their arm? Or the other way round?
The footsteps were getting closer, strangled breaths growing louder, blood pulsating in my temples. A thought whizzed into my mind. I hadn’t finished my funeral plan – I still needed to choose which charity any donations would go to. I willed my legs to move but they remained static. I let out a strangled scream, blindly karate chopping whatever was attacking me. Spots were appearing before my eyes, my legs zinged with unspent energy.
‘You!… It’s… It’s you?’
That voice. Wait, was that… ?
I opened my tightly shut eyes to see Callum Anderson jumping back from my mad, out of control arms.
‘Grace Salmon?’ The bright light from his phone torch flashed my face, blinding me.
‘Callum?’ I dropped my arms. The stack of leaflets billowed to the concrete.
I was unable to hide my shock. He looked a mess. His facial hair had grown into patchy clumps. His eyes were bloodshot and empty, angry dark purple circles dragging them down. He was wearing a creased grey T-shirt and grubby black jeans that hung from his frame. I wondered when he’d last had a decent meal, a proper shower or a shave.
‘Hi, I, er…’ I stuttered. I don’t know what I was expecting; the man was in mourning after all.
He frowned as if trying to place something. ‘You’ve changed your hair.’
‘Yeah,’ I smiled. ‘I fancied a change.’
He nodded, then confusion flashed back as he took in the scene.
‘What are you doing?’ An eye-watering stench of whisky hit me as he spoke. ‘Are you fly posting?’
‘Distributing leaflets…’ I trailed out.
He picked up the posters that I’d dropped in the chaos.
‘Ask A Funeral Arranger anything. Come along to find answers to any questions you may have about your perfect goodbye. Discover s
upport, advice and friendship every Friday at seven p.m,’ he read aloud.
‘And there’s cake. Homemade,’ I added.
He tilted his head as if thinking. ‘You know Mel reckons I should do this sort of thing. Sit in a room and share my feelings.’ He rolled his eyes then let out this short, sharp, shock of a laugh that seemed to echo down the quiet street. ‘She wants me to join some young widowers’ support group.’ He shuddered. ‘Found the details online. I mean, that’s a club that no one wants to be part of, isn’t it! They meet fortnightly in Costa Coffee on the high street. Something about how they help others cope with the early death of their partner. I told Mel I don’t need to sit in a chain coffee shop, with a group of strangers, all out-trumping each other with our dead spouse stories, to feel any less shit than I do right now.’
‘It might show you that you’re not alone?’ I said quietly, thinking about how quickly this odd bunch of Friday night friends had rounded together.
‘That’s what Mel said! And I said to her that I’m not alone. I’ve got her, and Nick, and the boys, and Rory and, well…’ He trailed off and rubbed the back of his head. His hair was unkempt and greasy. The stomach-churning smell of alcohol kept coming at me in waves.
‘Well, you’re more than welcome to come along to our session next week.’
He looked unsteady on his feet and glanced out into the distance.
‘Why are you doing this now? It’s like, midnight…’ His red-rimmed eyes blinked fast as if trying to focus. ‘Isn’t it?’ He frowned at the night sky, as if someone was playing a trick on him.
‘Er,’ I checked my watch. ‘It’s almost ten o’clock.’
I didn’t need to ask him where he’d been. I coughed at the fumes emanating from his dishevelled body. I needed him to leave me alone so I could carry on. I’d be there until dawn otherwise.
‘Oh.’ He frowned.
‘I’m trying to stick this one up here but I can’t reach the space.’
He took the poster and effortlessly held it in place, and pressed a drawing pin in.
‘Like that?’
‘Yep. Er, thanks.’
‘Any more?’
I had an optimistic stack in my bag, but I didn’t want to take up any more of his time. Then again, I could use his height to my advantage.
‘A couple?’
‘Come on then.’
He followed me as I wandered down the inky street to the doctor’s surgery. There was an outside noticeboard there too.
‘Right, I’ll hold this up.’ He opened the large frame of glass that was on a hinge, so I could duck in and stick up another poster.
‘You OK? Sorry. The pins have bent.’ I winced as I pressed the point into the pad of my thumb.
‘Fine.’ His voice strained at how heavy the window was to hold open. The rough wooden frame must have been there for about fifty years.
‘Done.’
I stepped back, noticing a glistening of sweat on his brow. He exhaled loudly as he closed the heavy glass door and rubbed his palms together, wincing.
‘You OK?’
‘Fine. Where’s the next one going?’
‘Wait – Callum.’ He turned around. ‘Your hands!’ He looked down. ‘You’re bleeding.’
His palm was smeared with crimson. He looked surprised at the cut; the alcohol must have anaesthetised any pain.
He shrugged. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It doesn’t look like nothing. You need to get it washed out and cleaned. You don’t want an infection.’
He wiped his palms against his thighs, blood smeared down his grubby jeans.
He grimaced slightly. ‘It’s fine.’
I don’t know if it was the fact he’d helped me, but I wanted to thank him. If I let him go back to his house in this state I knew he wouldn’t bother to wash the dirt from the wound, let alone dress it correctly.
‘Why don’t you come up to mine? I can try to bandage it up?’
He slowly lifted his face to mine.
‘I only live on the next street. It won’t take long.’
He eventually nodded and let me lead the way. Neither of us spoke on the short walk. I tried not to read too much into the slight shift in the atmosphere between us. I shouldn’t have invited him back. The moment it came out of my mouth I wished I could have taken it back, but it was too late. I was going to have to act like I was totally fine with a man coming up to my flat.
A man who wasn’t Henry.
Chapter 17
He seemed to take up the whole space. His presence electrified the air in my small flat. What would Linda say? I was sure this was against company policy. I needed to fix him up then ship him out as quickly as possible.
‘Right, let me sort that cut out!’ I sang, brighter than I felt.
I busied myself with getting my first-aid box from the bathroom. I didn’t know where to put myself. I felt flustered, energy coursing through my body at the fact he was here in my personal space, emitting smells of whisky and manliness. It had been so long since I’d been this close to aromas of aftershave and alcohol.
Not since Henry.
I blinked his name out of my head and tried to focus on the task in hand. I needed to get Callum fixed up and bundled into a taxi home, where he could sleep off the killer hangover waiting for him.
‘Nice place you’ve got here.’ He’d wandered into the bathroom and began running tap water over his bloodied knuckles.
‘Oh, er, thanks, it’s a lot smaller than your house but it suits me,’ I babbled, feeling my cheeks heat up as both of us were now crammed into my small bathroom.
I caught him silently wincing at the sting. I flicked my eyes away from his reflection and back to the box I was struggling to open.
‘Bloody hell!’ He laughed loudly. I looked up from rummaging for the antiseptic cream and a suitable bandage to see him staring at me. ‘You’ve got a complete pharmacy in there!’
‘Oh, yes, well, it’s good to be prepared for every eventuality…’ I guess I did have rather a lot of medicines, creams, tablets and dressings.
I’d picked it up when ordering the first-aid kit for work; the low-hazard workplace set (for up to twenty-five employees) was on a buy-one-get-one-free deal. I couldn’t refuse. The shatterproof case had medical paraphernalia in small, clear Perspex dividers, and it even came with a wall bracket. It was compliant with the British Standard regulations and had everything from burn dressings to clothing cutters to a face shield for mouth to mouth. It had been a very worthwhile investment.
‘When nuclear war breaks out, I’ll have to make sure I’m somewhere near you,’ he smiled.
‘I’m not sure how practical that would be. We’d need a complete survival pack with enough water, a tin opener, plenty of canned goods, toilet rolls, a makeshift toilet. In fact…’ I trailed off, seeing his face change to confusion.
‘It was a joke, Grace.’
I smiled tightly. ‘Sorry, this might sting.’ I gently sprayed the antiseptic spray and wrapped a protective gauze over the wound. ‘You’ll need to change the dressing regularly, but I don’t think you’ll have to go to hospital.’
‘Thank god, I bloody hate hospitals.’ He inspected my handiwork. ‘Nice job. Thanks, Nurse Grace.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to leave, so I offered him a drink and told him to head to the lounge. He wandered through, leaving me to pack away the first-aid box, making a mental note to refresh supplies on my next shop.
‘Have you got any whisky?’ he called. ‘Wait – silly question. You don’t look like a whisky drinker to me.’
I didn’t ask him what he imagined I drank. He definitely didn’t need another drink, but I suddenly wished that I did have a stash I could impress him with. To feel my bones loosen with the numbing effects of alcohol, the way I’d seen my mother relax so many times, letting out a deep exhale of satisfaction as she took her first sip. It must be nice to be able to forget. I remembered people getting
stoned at university, telling me they felt better when they were high, as it meant they could forget everything. They never went into detail about what it was they wanted to forget, but they continued to ‘forget’ on a regular basis.
‘I’ve got tea or coffee? Or Adam’s ale?’
I didn’t know where to put myself. I wanted to open a window to let more air in, but I thought it might look rude.
‘Ale?’ His ears pricked up.
‘Sorry,’ I blushed. ‘It’s what my mum calls tap water…’
‘You don’t drink, at all?’
I shook my head, hoping that would be enough of a full stop.
‘Coffee is fine.’ He wafted an unsteady hand.
Happy to have something to do, I clicked the kettle on and clattered around, clumsily recovering the habit of making a hot drink for someone other than myself in my own kitchen. At the last minute, I put back the instant coffee and got out my best mugs, rummaged for my cafetière and opened a fresh pack of ground coffee beans. The kitchen filled with soothing smells and rumbling noises as the kettle reaching boiling point.
Callum Anderson was in my house. The first man to ever set foot in there, apart from my brother, and the plumber three years ago when my boiler broke down. No man had ever sat on that sofa, never reclined or relaxed in the way he was sprawled out. It was actually kind of nice having someone else in the house. Just being aware of another person in the space was more comforting than I’d imagined; I hadn’t realised how empty it had felt. The sound of him settling in my living room was the best sound I’d heard in months, actually.
‘I don’t know if you were hungry, but I’ve got these.’ I placed a pack of bourbon biscuits that I’d artfully arranged on a side plate, wanting to make a joke about not having whisky but I did have bourbon, but unable to find the right words.
He took a biscuit and dunked it into his steaming mug. He had moved onto the floor, his back resting against the sofa he’d just been sat on.
‘Are you OK down there?’
‘I sit on floors now. Is that weird? I never used to sit on floors but ever since… Well, ever since recently, I’ve been sitting on floors.’