How to Say Goodbye

by Katy Colins

  ‘Oh, no problem…’ Everyone was going dairy-free nowadays.

  ‘Right. Here you go.’ He pushed a mug over the counter to me, pulling me from my thoughts.

  ‘Thanks.’ I needed to think of something to fill the silence between us. ‘So, er, how’s Mel and the boys?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. Well, I haven’t actually seen them in a while. I figured I need to stop using their house as a crash pad and get used to being here on my own.’

  I nodded, taking a sip of my tea, trying to ignore the tiny white flecks floating at the top of my mug.

  ‘I’ve been trying to be more self-sufficient, not constantly relying on her and Nick to get me through. It’s also a way for me to drink as much as I like without being told off.’

  ‘Oh…’

  ‘Joke. Kind of.’

  I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

  ‘And, er, how’s your hand? I hope you’ve been keeping it clean?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s fine. Thanks.’

  He had taken off the bandage that I’d applied. Luckily the scratch wasn’t as deep as I’d first worried. The skin had already started growing over, healing. A funny sort of silence fell between us as we both drank our drinks. I needed to finish my cup, let my heart rate return to normal and get out of there.

  He caught me looking out of the window to the large garden.

  ‘It’s a bit of a jungle out there.’ He winced in embarrassment.

  ‘You’ve had a lot going on.’ I smiled awkwardly and gulped my drink, ignoring how it scalded my tongue.

  He sighed. ‘It used to be pretty spectacular, especially at this time of year.’

  In the six weeks or so since the funeral, the lawn had become clumpy, the edges undefined. The flower beds – like those out front – were filled with weeds, stray grass and dead leaves. An animal – a fox or a cat – had been digging in one of the raised beds, and soil was sprayed all over the patio.

  ‘I can help you with it if you’d like?’ I blurted out.

  Why had I said that? Was this ridiculous offer a way of trying to clear my conscience after snooping through his wife’s things? Or maybe I just saw how much TLC the place was lacking, and wanted to help him out. He could clearly do with some extra help to get anywhere near the Callum I’d seen photos of on Abbie’s Facebook page. I wondered if that man would ever return.

  ‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  I nodded rapidly. I couldn’t take it back now. ‘Sure, I mean, I like gardening. I just don’t get the chance in my little flat. I’d be happy to help.’

  He paused to think about this. ‘You know, you’re the first person who’s not done the classic “if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to call” hollow platitudes. The last thing I feel like doing is picking up a phone and actually calling these people, giving them tasks to help me out.’ He peered out of the window. ‘It does look a bit of a state.’ He winced as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Are you sure?’

  I nodded. ‘I mean, I’m no expert but I used to love planting things and watching them grow in our garden when I was younger. There’s something satisfying about getting your hands dirty. We even had a little vegetable patch, I was so proud of my cherry tomatoes until Freddie, my half-brother, smashed a football into them and ruined them. My mum brought some from Tesco and tried to pass them off as mine, but I knew they were a substitute.’ I smiled at the memory I’d forgotten about until now. ‘I’d be happy to spend some time out there weeding and freshening up your beds.’

  ‘It’s a while since anyone has put it like that…’

  ‘I meant your flower beds!’ I clasped a hand to my mouth.

  His eyes suddenly flicked to the carrier bag on the dining table and a deep blush coloured his cheeks.

  ‘Yeah, I know, sorry. I shouldn’t have…’

  He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. ‘We used to have a gardener but I’ve not managed to book him back in. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then you can knock yourself out and plant whatever you want out there. Start whenever you like.’

  Chapter 20

  I started the next day, popping home to change after work and then heading to Callum’s place. The evenings were drawing out as we moved towards the end of May. That first day, Callum and I barely spoke – too busy ticking off the list of jobs that I’d scribbled down on two sides of A4. I thought I saw Callum’s eyes widen as he read the list aloud, but he simply nodded and got to work. I’d noticed that the takeaway cartons had been removed, and the kitchen work surfaces had been wiped; a very faint smell of bleach hung in the air as I’d walked through to the garden. We both set to our respective tasks. Any attempt at conversation was drowned out by the lawnmower, the snapping of shears or loud whirring of the jet washer.

  The second day we made light small talk as we worked. We mostly stuck to safe topics, like comparing our aching muscle pain and discussing possible irrigation systems. Birdsong became our background music. By the end of the week, after popping round after work each evening, I felt so comfortable around Callum it was quite alarming. We didn’t need a detailed plan to follow, we’d gotten to grips with most of the unruly shrubs and weeds, our tastes in plants were very similar and any previous formalities had vanished. Conversation flowed when necessary but equally, the silences were strangely comfortable.

  ‘It’s looking good, hey?’ Callum leant back on a shovel, pulling me from my thoughts.

  Soil was flecked across his nose where he’d absentmindedly wiped the sweat from his rosy cheeks. His thin T-shirt clung to his chest, giving the hint of a defined stomach under there. I tried not to stare. The weather had been kind, and had given us both a slight sheen of colour, a welcome change from the pale pallor I was used to seeing. He’d even trimmed his beard and had his hair cut. He was looking a lot more put together.

  ‘It really is.’

  I followed his proud gaze over the wooden frame he’d constructed for runner beans to flourish. The blueprints for the design had been impressive in themselves. The satisfaction was equally shared.

  ‘Right, are you hungry? It’s ready when you are.’

  He went to wash his hands. I’d pre-prepared us a simple Mediterranean vegetable and chickpea salad, with a side of herb flatbread and dips. We ate on the grass, on the towel he’d laid out as a picnic blanket for us. It was the first proper chance for a conversation since we’d begun work.

  ‘So.’ He finished chewing. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you more about you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah, I realised that you’ve only ever heard things about me and my situation. I wondered: what’s your story?’ Callum asked, scooping a great glob of tzatziki onto his plate.

  ‘My story?’

  ‘For example, what made you get into your job? It’s a little out there as career choices go.’ He let out a light laugh.

  ‘Well, I always wanted to work in a job where I could help people.’ I delivered the line I’d become accustomed to parroting at the drop of a hat. It was the answer that satisfied people’s curiosity. I didn’t know if I’d ever get the strength to admit the truth to anyone.

  ‘Here I was, worried you might say you were some secret goth with a penchant for vials of blood.’

  ‘I’m actually quite squeamish!’

  ‘That’s why you’ve got that impressive first-aid kit?’

  ‘Yeah, something like that…’

  I busied myself with a forkful of salad.

  ‘OK, so what about family?’ he asked, thankfully moving the subject on slightly. ‘You mentioned that you have a brother –’

  ‘Half-brother.’

  I picked up a cold glass of iced water, a couple of ice cubes clanged together.

  ‘Yeah, half-brother, Freddie isn’t it?’

  I nodded, impressed at his memory.

  ‘What about the rest of your family?’

  I took a long sip before answering. ‘Not much to tell really. My mum, Tina, she’s a bit of a wild
child, always has been. She met Freddie’s dad, my stepdad I guess, although they were never married, a few years after I was born. He’s locked up now.’

  ‘Locked up?’

  ‘Yeah, petty crime, repeatedly. He says he just prefers to be inside than out but really he’s a waste of space loser. My mum has a bit of a type.’ I rolled my eyes.

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘Well, it’s not like mother, like daughter, if that’s what you mean.’ I laughed lightly then paused. ‘I don’t know if I have a type… my ex, well he was one of a kind. But it didn’t end well.’ Was I seriously going here? I gulped the water, wincing at the icy coldness against my teeth.

  ‘I’ve had exes like that.’ He nodded. ‘I guess everyone has to experience their share of heartbreak at some point?’

  ‘Yeah, erm, well this was a big one. It kind of rocked everything. It was the reason I moved up here, actually.’

  ‘A fresh start?’

  ‘Something like that. I needed distance in order to try and move on,’ I said, wanting to get back onto safer ground. ‘I’m guessing you don’t believe in this “type” nonsense either?’

  He rolled onto his back to face the wispy clouds. ‘I think people think I do, but actually I don’t.’

  ‘What do people think is your type?’ I boldly asked.

  ‘Pretty, skinny, arm candy,’ he answered in a beat.

  ‘Is this some Oedipus thing? I bet you’re going to tell me that your mum was a blonde bombshell!’

  He stiffened at the mention of his mother. A low cloud crossed the sun, making my bare arms bristle into goosebumps.

  ‘Something like that.’

  I rubbed my arms as a silence opened up between us. I wished I’d not been so bold.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I’m not used to talking about her.’ He rubbed the back of his neck then glanced up at me, squinting without his sunglasses on. The sun had turned his hair a lighter shade of blond. It suited him. ‘Well, there’s certainly no Oedipus thing going on.’ He tried to smile but it looked forced. ‘The last time I saw her was in a contact centre. She wasn’t able to look after me and Mel, so she signed us over to people who could. Except they turned out to do an equally poor job.’ He flashed another false smile.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry… What about your dad?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was just us two, Mel and I, and that was how we liked it. When we were put into care we were moved from place to place, trying to settle as we refused to be split. It’s where I met Rory actually, he’s my best mate, more of a brother really.’

  ‘I bet it’s been good to have him around recently?’

  ‘He lives in Scotland so I don’t see him as often as I’d like. I’ve probably not been so good at picking up the phone either…’ He trailed out. ‘I mean, I know I should, Mel is always going on about me cutting myself off from those that want to help, but sometimes it’s easier to just get on with things, you know?’

  I nodded.

  ‘So, are you thinking of making a fresh start after everything?’

  Callum let out a sigh. ‘I mean, doing the garden up is helpful, if I did come to sell. I guess this is a big house for one person to be rattling around in. Too big for me now, but…’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘That just all seems like a huge mountain to climb.’

  ‘One day at a time, right?’

  He smiled softly. ‘Something like that.’

  Chapter 21

  The woman opposite stared at me, her puffy red eyes unseeing, as if she wasn’t sure why she was here. I could see her brain trying to work out where it had all gone so desperately wrong for her.

  ‘Maybe you would like to add a favourite teddy into the coffin?’

  ‘That… that would be nice.’ Her husband, Thomas, said in a whisper. He looked equally as unsure as she did.

  ‘Yes, I don’t want her to be alone.’ Rachael’s voice was as fragile as glass. ‘How about the pink elephant from the carnival last year? Thomas won it for me. That was before I even knew I was pregnant.’

  Thomas squeezed her hand.

  ‘Good idea, love.’ His voice faltered, but he needed to show his emotion. I knew just how important it was that he let his barriers down too. ‘She’d like that.’

  Planning a funeral for a child – today it was for Daisy, a little girl born sleeping – was, by far, the toughest part of my job. It took all my strength and reserve to focus on the task in hand and not let my mind get overwhelmed. It is unthinkable, planning to bury your own child, but I needed to focus on the fact that it becomes an opportunity to honour and celebrate them in their own special way.

  You could practically see this couple dancing around the edges of each other. Neither one wanting to put a foot wrong and say something to tip the other over the edge. It looked exhausting. Despite that, I was so grateful they had each other; not every grieving mother has that support beside her. I blinked. Concentrate, Grace.

  ‘Okay, so the last thing to think about is who will carry Daisy’s coffin? We have a fantastic team who can look after this if you would prefer?’

  ‘Maybe my dad, or your Uncle Richard? God. It’s not fair,’ Rachael wailed and began rocking back and forth on the chair, one hand over her mouth to muffle the painful cry. I moved the box of tissues to the centre of the table, not wanting her to feel she needed to stem the tears but also not wanting her to feel like she had to ask for one.

  ‘OK, Rach, it’s OK,’ Thomas said, rubbing her heaving back.

  I’d seen this many times, but it never got easier. Men supporting their wives; women unable to even register that their partner was next to them. Thomas tried to choke back the tears now freely spilling down his cheeks. I could almost see him mentally telling himself off for showing emotion. Men don’t cry. Men should be brave. I wanted to reach across the table and take both their hands in mine. Clasp them hard and tell them that they would get through this together. That sharing in this tragic loss with honesty, at their own pace but as a team, would get them through it.

  ‘I’m not ready to say goodbye!’ Rachael bit her lip. Her face was devoid of colour.

  I let her sobs ease off before I spoke.

  ‘I understand. Something that may bring a little comfort – how about writing her a letter? Of all the things you’d like to say to her? We can add it into the coffin too?’

  Rachael’s tense face softened at the idea.

  ‘It might be a good way for you to try and express what you’re feeling?’

  She nodded slowly and nibbled an already ravaged thumbnail. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘I know there’s so much to take in,’ I said softly. ‘But a few families I’ve worked with like to have something to look forward to after the service has taken place. They ask loved ones to come together for a memorial and plant a tree in a place that means a lot to you. That may be something to think about?’

  Rachael bobbed her head and sniffed loudly into the shredded sodden tissue clamped under her nose.

  I already knew from Rachael’s Facebook page that Thomas had proposed to her in a local beauty spot overlooking a nearby waterfall. The beaming smile as she flashed an engagement ring in a photo from three years ago would take a long time to return to her drawn face.

  ‘There’s the nature reserve up in the hills. You know, near that waterfall?’ Thomas suggested to his wife, then turned to me. ‘We actually got engaged there.’

  I smiled softly. ‘That sounds wonderful. I’m more than happy to help you organise a service there after the funeral has taken place? Whenever you feel ready, of course.’

  ‘Thanks, Grace.’

  ‘So, any final thoughts for today? You must both be exhausted.’

  ‘I think we’ll leave it there?’ Thomas clapped his hands together, wanting to take back some sort of control.

  I handed them my card, and told them to call me whenever they wanted to.

  ‘Your daughter will get the goodbye she deserves,’ I promised as
I let them out. It was easy to let a heavy grey mood descend upon you, choking you with emotion you had to hide after meetings like this. I sniffed and took a deep breath.

  I needed to focus. I had something up my sleeve that I hoped they would appreciate. After they left I hurried to my desk and I clicked on a local garden centre website to double-check the flowers were in season, and placed my order. I was planning on lining the aisle in the church with little plant pots that I’d spray-paint white and fill with daisies. We could then offer them to the guests to take home and plant in their own garden, a way to remember this little girl. I had a few days before the funeral to get them ready. It was an out-of-work project that I certainly didn’t mind doing.

  *

  ‘So are you going to spill the beans and tell me who’s been keeping you so busy?’ Ms Norris asked.

  ‘Hmm?’ I locked the office door and gave the handle a good pull.

  ‘Well, you have been busy, and I’m sure there’s something you’re not telling me.’ Ms Norris raised an eyebrow. She untied Purdy’s lead and waited for me to give the handle one final tug, satisfied it was properly locked, before we headed to the church hall together. It was one of those gorgeous early summer evenings. The air smelt warm and the hazy dusk cast everything in a fuzzy apricot glow. Ms Norris had offered to meet me at the office so we could walk over together and enjoy a balmy stroll. It also meant she could use this time to dig for any gossip.

  ‘I’ve been helping a widower with a spot of gardening,’ I shrugged as lightly as I could under her intrigued stare.

  ‘That sounds very noble of you, Miss Salmon.’ She tried to steer Purdy in the right direction. ‘Was his wife a client?’ She nodded back at the funeral home.

  ‘Sadly, yes. I noticed he was struggling so I’m just helping him stay on top of his garden, as a way to help.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. I hope he appreciates your effort. It’s always good to get out in the fresh air and gardening is such a fun way to keep trim. Purdy – get away from that.’ She tugged on the lead. ‘Speaking of keeping trim, I might need to introduce some less calorific options into our bake-off.’ She patted her stomach.