by Katy Colins
‘So, the weather nice then?’ I asked, once Frank had gone to his office. ‘You chose the right time to go away. It’s been non-stop showers here.’
‘Oh, it was wonderful.’
She went on to tell me all about the karaoke competition she’d won and how friendly the locals were.
‘Sounds great.’ I got up to see to Mr Greenway who’d arrived early that morning; his sons were due in to see him later.
‘Oh, Grace…’ Linda said, as I pushed my chair back.
‘Yes?’
‘The funniest thing…’ My stomach dropped and my heart began to beat faster at the strange look on her orange face. ‘I’ve been thinking about when I bumped into you before I went away.’
I tensed my jaw. ‘Oh?’
‘It stayed in my head for my whole trip. I knew that man you were with had looked so familiar but I just couldn’t put my finger on where I knew him from. I’m terrible with faces and names.’ A short, sharp jolt of laughter.
‘If I’m not mistaken…’ She slowly wafted a biro in the air. ‘Callum’s wife had her funeral with us? I thought I’d seen him before! I just didn’t know you two knew each other so well…’ The accusation hung in the warm air.
I stayed silent. Beads of sweat tickled my hairline.
Just stay calm. Breathe, Grace.
‘Well, we don’t really…’ I trailed off, wilting under her stern glare.
‘I say this as a friend, Grace.’ She lowered her voice. ‘But you know it’s against company policy to be having relations with a client –’
‘We are not having relations!’ I cried defensively, kicking myself for such an outburst.
She pursed her sticky, bright pink lips. ‘Really? You looked ever so cosy when I saw you. All I want to say is that you need to be careful. If Frank ever found out it could seriously jeopardise your career.’
I felt like the blood had evaporated from my legs.
‘Ah, here’s Mr Greenway’s sons now!’ She rose from her seat and adjusted her low-cut blouse. The spell broken.
‘I’ll go and prepare their father for the viewing,’ I said in a whisper, leaving her to welcome the men in.
I closed the door and sank onto the chair opposite the closed coffin, glad to be alone with my racing thoughts. For a second I envied Mr Greenway, peacefully lying there. No drama, no gossip, and no suspicious colleagues to deal with. They say it’s the living you need to be scared of, not the dead.
*
‘You can’t put a price on love, you know?’ the woman with ridiculous gold hoops in her poor earlobes said for the third time since walking in. ‘You’ve got to give them a good send-off. I mean, it’s going to be the biggest day of my mum’s life, just a shame it had to happen after her death.’
At this the lady swallowed loudly and flashed her eyes heavenwards to keep back the glossy tears threatening to spill out and dribble down her heavily made-up face. The man sitting next to her nodded his head firmly. He took this as a cue to speak for the first time.
‘What Dawn is trying to say is that we’ve been to a few funerals in our time and for Mum, god rest her soul, it needs to be better.’
Funerals are not for the deceased, they’re for the people left behind. Frank’s words rang in my mind. Dawn and Nigel’s mother, Vera, had passed away after a long bout of cancer, so they’d had time to come to terms with her death. They had also had a lot of time to think about arrangements for her final farewell, which would have made my job easier if only they could agree on something together.
‘I understand. Is there anything else you can think of that we may be able to incorporate into the day?’
The siblings passed a look between each other.
‘We want Mum to be buried with her Sky TV box and a remote control in her hand.’
‘OK.’ I wrote down the request.
‘She loved watching telly. Corrie was her absolute favourite. That and Crossroads, when it was on,’ Dawn said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. ‘She was heartbroken when Betty died. She always said she’d loved to have tasted one of her hotpots.’
‘Maybe we could add a hotpot microwave ready meal in with her too?’ Nigel piped up.
Dawn flashed him a look, her tissue crumpled in her hand. ‘Are you mad!? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! You can’t bury someone with a microwave dinner going mouldy next to them!’
‘What? But you can put in a bloody remote control! What’s next, the damn aerial dragged down from the roof? No doubt you’ll be expecting me to climb up and pull it down to tuck in beside her?’ he snapped.
‘You selfish pr–’
‘Selfish! I’m not the one getting all emotional over a sodding TV character!’ Nigel shook his head and let out an incredulous laugh.
Dawn glared at him. I imagined them as children, squabbling over a toy. Back then their mum would have intervened, but who was going to step in to break up the childish bickering now? The atmosphere in this small room had just escalated to boiling point. I needed to try and get them both back down from the ceiling.
‘How about we move on? We can come back to these ideas in a while?’ I didn’t let them answer before I turned my piece of paper over and passed them the brochure. ‘Now, you said you’d like a burial? That’s not a problem, we just need to –’
‘You know what?’ Nigel interrupted me.
‘What?’ Dawn spun to face him, soggy tissue intricately shredded between her long painted fingers.
‘Mum never said she wanted a burial. You were the one who said it. I actually think we should do a cremation. Write this down, Grace!’
‘Oh no! No, no, no. You’re not changing this now. Grace, ignore him. He doesn’t even know what Mum wanted. He was hardly waiting at her bedside every day like I was. How the hell do you expect to know what Mum would have wanted!?’ she shrieked.
Nigel let out a vindictive laugh. ‘Ha! Oh listen to Miss Nightingale over here.’ He pointed a chubby finger at his sister. She glared at it as if she was about to bite it. ‘I’m not the one who booked an all-inclusive fortnight in Lanzarote during the last stage of her chemo, am I!?’
Dawn slammed her hands on the table. ‘That’s it! I’ve had enough of you. I can’t even bear to be in the same room as you. You know I deserved that holiday!’
‘Alright, maybe we should take a break?’
Dawn stared at me as if she’d forgotten I was even there. Her heavily made up eyes narrowed at her brother. Tear stains streaked down her orange cheeks.
‘Good idea. If he’s going to waltz in here and think he can change everything then he can think again. Mum wanted a burial and that’s that!’ She roughly pulled her biker jacket from the back of her chair and stormed out, slamming the door behind her with such force the framed certificates bounced on the walls.
‘OK…’ I took a deep breath. The air felt stale with the tension. ‘I understand this is a very emotional time for you, for both of you.’
Nigel looked up, muttering something under his breath. ‘She’s always been like this. Mum always let her get her way, for far too long. She’s a spoilt brat.’
‘It’s a very tense time and emotions are bound to run high. What I would recommend is that we leave it there for today and you come back to see me when you’ve maybe managed to have a chat together about things?’
Nigel scoffed. ‘You don’t know her. She won’t change her mind now she’s made it up.’
‘Then I advise that you perhaps ask someone you both know and trust to act as a mediator? You can let them know your wishes and come to some sort of compromise that your mum, Vera, would have wanted.’
At the sound of her name all the bravado puddled out. He swallowed hard and nodded. ‘You’re right. This isn’t about me and that cow of a sister. This is about Mum.’
I smiled gently. ‘Exactly. I think it’s wonderful that you both feel so passionately about giving her the send-off she deserves. It’s just about trying to figure out a way to keep ev
eryone happy.’ He nodded firmly. ‘Let’s leave it there for today. Give me a call when you’ve had time to cool off and think about things?’
‘OK, thanks.’ He got to his feet. ‘Sorry about…’ he mumbled as he got to the door.
‘It’s what I’m here for.’
A wave of exhaustion rolled over me as I watched him leave. It had been a testing day.
Chapter 31
I waited for the microwave to ping. I promised myself I’d get back into the swing of eating healthy, nutritious dinners soon. My cleaning rota had also been somewhat neglected recently. I ignored the unsightly line of scum around the sink and the full-to-bursting kitchen bin. I was running late for Grief Club. After wolfing down my dinner I would have to rush out of the door and catch up on cleaning later.
As I peeled off the greasy film from my fish pie for one, I opened my laptop and impatiently waited for it to come to life. Deano had sent me a link to an article on Facebook that I’d promised him I’d read, but I’d forgotten all about it. He was bound to ask me about it later. I didn’t know what was going on, but it felt like I was chasing my tail – even a few of my services at work had been less polished than I’d normally have liked. Thankfully Linda hadn’t mentioned Callum again.
As I opened Facebook I saw Abbie’s profile picture smiling back at me. There had been another article about her and the road safety campaign the local newspaper was pushing. Apparently they had now installed better street lighting in a few spots across town. Without thinking, my fingers moved to her profile page.
I clicked through to Abbie’s photo albums, enlarging the images so Abbie’s face filled my screen.
I paused on a photo. There was something about it that bothered me but I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. Abbie wearing a fancy-looking beige rain mac on a soaked pier, a seagull swooping across dark ominous clouds in the background. She had pulled the wide lapels up, as if hiding from the wind that was whipping her hair. Her eyes were focussed on something in the distance. Hands clenched in her pockets. A Mona Lisa smile on her lips.
The doorbell rang, pulling me back into the real world.
Who can that be? I wasn’t expecting anyone. I glanced at the time on my phone. I was running really late and didn’t have time for unexpected visitors. I left my laptop, chucked the empty fish pie dish in the sink, and rushed downstairs. I could see a fractured silhouette through the glass. The height and build were difficult to make out, as whoever it was bobbing around outside.
Callum? My stomach flipped at seeing him again. I paused. Maybe he’d randomly decided to come here so we could walk to Grief Club together? He’d not texted or called to tell me of this unexpected plan, but then I had been ignoring his other messages asking how I was, hoping everything was OK, letting me know that he had a bumper load of onions and potatoes from the seeds we’d planted. He’d invited me over to help him get through them all, offering to cook, which according to his disaster culinary tales was a big deal. I’d deleted every message, needing to put some space between us. Linda’s suspicious face loomed to the forefront of my mind.
I braced myself. I was going to have to face the music as whoever it was could clearly see me through the glass. I took a deep breath and fixed on a smile as I pulled the door open.
‘Hi… D-daniel?’
‘Hi, Grace. Sorry. Is this a bad time?’
Why was Daniel standing on my doorstep? How did he even know where I lived? He must have read my thoughts.
‘Your mum gave me your address. She told me it would be a nice touch if I hand-delivered it myself…’ He trailed out, taking in my confused expression.
‘Hand-delivered what?’
He moved to the side. Behind him, resting against the tiled alcove was a large package wrapped in light brown paper. It came up to his knees.
‘This…’ His eyes flicked between my face and whatever he’d brought with him. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t know about it?’
I shook my head, waiting for him to explain.
‘Ah. She commissioned a painting when you both came to my studio. Said it was for your flat, to add some colour or something. I was going to mention it when we met for a drink but, well, I hadn’t realised how much longer it was going to take to finish,’ he admitted sheepishly before trailing off. Clearly he wasn’t used to this damp reaction when he handed one of his pieces over to clients. ‘Do you want me to take it back?’
I was going to kill Mum. She was clearly trying to matchmake us. But after the awkwardness of our recent drink. It was a little too late for anything like that. I checked my watch. It looked like I’d have to miss another Grief Club. I couldn’t just turn him away.
‘No.’ I shook my head and fixed on a smile. ‘You’re here now.’
I opened the door fully and led him upstairs, deciding that whatever it was should probably be hung in the lounge.
He dramatically tore off the paper packaging to reveal an abstract multi-coloured canvas, lime green cloud-like forms swirled into pops of indigo and pink. There must have been at least fourteen different colours. It certainly was striking, but nothing that I would have ever picked.
He was waiting for me to say something.
‘It’s very… bright.’
‘Yeah,’ he glanced around at the rest of the flat. The magnolia walls and cream furniture seemed to make the riot of colour pop even more. ‘Do you like it?’
I nodded, not wanting to hurt his feelings. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t me.
‘Your mum said she thought you’d love it.’ Course she did. ‘I can hang it up for you if you like? It’s quite heavy?’
‘Oh, er, I guess so. Thanks.’
Just then I noticed that he’d even brought a small tool kit with him.
‘Here OK?’
I nodded at the bare wall above the sofa he was pointing to.
‘I think I need to apologise for how I came across when we went out,’ he said, rummaging for a suitable nail to hang it on. ‘I may have invited you for a drink under false pretences.’
‘Oh?’ I felt a funny sort of flip in my tummy. That evening it had been abundantly clear that Daniel and I were not on the same page. He’d not been in touch since then, and neither had I. His face grew serious as he searched for a pencil to mark a spot on the wall. The smile in his voice faded.
‘Yeah, there was a reason I asked to meet up with you, but I guess I kind of bottled it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You said you were a counsellor –’
‘Well, I…’
I suddenly felt wary of what confession he was going to make. I knew it was time to come clean. I shook my head.
‘I’m not a counsellor, Daniel.’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’
What? I thought he just said…
‘I googled you. Grace Salmon, Funeral Arranger. Why didn’t you say?’
I winced, casting my eyes to the carpet. ‘I shouldn’t really have been at Abbie’s wake. It’s not very professional, and I didn’t want to get into any trouble.’
His brow knotted. ‘You looked after Abbie’s funeral?’
I nodded.
There was a long pause. He looked as if he was about to say something but turned and hid his face from view as he rummaged for a hammer and nail. The banging noise competing with the growing headache I suddenly felt coming on.
‘I’m just going to…’ He was too focussed on the task in hand to hear me. I left him to it and went to look for a paracetamol to stop the tension in my head. I was sure I had some by my bed. Abbie’s face caught my eye as I walked into my bedroom, staring up at me from my laptop screen. The photo on the windswept beach. Then it hit me. All thoughts of painkillers were forgotten as I quickly zoomed in on the image, my fingers trying to catch up with my brain as I moved the curser around the enlarged photo, feeling a wave of trepidation at what I saw. What my brain had registered when I’d first seen this photo.
Pinned to the lapel on her rain mac was a g
linting badge. I just could make out the shape, a sort of infinity knot, the size of a pound coin. It was a dull gold colour. It had struck me as odd as Abbie only wore designer high-end pieces, a shabby brooch didn’t fit right with her flawless style. The other strange thing was that I’d seen this unusual design before, but it wasn’t in her jewellery box that I’d rummaged through. If only my brain would connect the pieces together.
‘All done, Grace!’
Daniel’s voice filtered through from the lounge at the exact moment it came back to me. I remembered where I’d seen this same badge before. It was at Daniel’s studio; as I’d walked out of the toilet something had caught my eye. Hanging on a hook behind the toilet door was his jacket, and that’s where I’d seen the same shabby pin badge – except it wasn’t a badge, it was a tiny antique brooch.
‘I’ll be right there!’ I called, quickly pulling open another tab in my browser. I typed into google: infinity knot brooch.
Maybe I was reading too much into this. Maybe it was some trend that I’d missed. The search engine brought up an exact image of the brooch Abbie had pinned to her. I was right, it was hardly a common accessory. There were a few for sale on eBay, ranging from £10 to £600, depending on wear and tear. It was a small gold enamel Victorian love knot.
‘You and Abbie were a couple?’ I breathed, rushing into the lounge.
His face dropped. For a second I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. He shut his eyes and slowly nodded. His cheeks were devoid of colour. My head went into overdrive at what this revelation meant.
‘How did you know?’ His voice was a tremble of a whisper. ‘No one knew!’