How to Say Goodbye

by Katy Colins

  He’d let me add cleaning to my list of daily jobs, preferring to give me a less client-focussed role at the moment. I was grateful to him for that. Working behind the scenes had been best for everyone.

  It had been three weeks since I’d last seen Callum. I missed him more than I imagined I would. I missed what I thought we’d had, feeling like someone cared for me the way I cared for them. Friendship.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ He smiled, leaning back in his chair. ‘You’ve done a lovely job with this place. Some really nice touches.’ He nodded to the change of pictures and brighter up-lighters on the walls.

  ‘No problem.’ I was keen to get back to the store cupboard. I was going to tackle that space today, give it a thorough clean and alphabetise the containers.

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘What it is, Grace… well… as you know you’ve not really been yourself, and I just wanted to say how nice it is having you back. I know you’ve gone through a tough time.’ He didn’t know the half of it. ‘But we’re really glad you’re keeping busy and back where you belong.’ He smiled at me kindly. ‘And you know that you can pick up working with families once more, whenever you feel you’re ready. But I do think it’s best if, for the next few weeks at least, you continue to do your marvellous work behind the scenes.’

  ‘That’s fine by me.’

  The truth was I wasn’t ready to be sitting with families who were going through hell. I had empathy fatigue, compassion overload, or any other way of saying I was burnt out. I was grateful to Frank and Linda for stepping up so I could step down. I had relinquished my hold and control, my obsessions with making every funeral completely perfect. It was actually nice to take a breather.

  ‘But we still want you to feel useful and valuable to the business, so I had hoped, if you don’t think it’s too much work, you might take on the Love of My Light service?’ He paused, chewing his bottom lip. ‘Only if you think you’re ready?’

  The Love of My Light service was an annual event we held to remember loved ones who’d been in our care. Whether they had passed away recently, or we had looked after them years ago, it was a chance for their families to come and light a candle in their honour and have a chat over tea and cake. It was also usually Linda’s baby.

  ‘Linda won’t mind?’

  Frank shook his head vigorously. ‘No, she’s more than happy to pass this over to you.’

  I doubted Linda would have had much say in the matter.

  ‘Plans have already started, so you don’t need to feel overwhelmed. I just know you’ll do an excellent job, Grace.’ He smiled, then faltered. ‘If you think you’re ready?’

  I smiled back. ‘That sounds great, thank you.’

  Chapter 46

  I glanced at my watch. I was running late. Really late.

  ‘I just need to make one more trip home,’ I breathlessly called to Frank who was helping me unload the boxes of cakes from my car.

  ‘What?’ His eyes widened at the sheer number of baked goods, pies, cupcakes and tarts in front of him.

  I’d offered to do some baking for the event. Frank had seemed surprised that I would want to go to that much effort when there was a pot of money to cover catering. I told him that it was no problem, secretly grateful to have something to fill my evenings and weekends with, and instantly knowing whose recipes to use. I promised you I’d get your cakes into the mouths of as many people as I could, I thought as I pulled on my coat. Although, looking at the impressive spread, maybe I had gone a little overboard.

  ‘I won’t be long! I forgot the napkins.’

  As I drove I found myself singing along to the radio. ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ was playing and, despite not knowing all the words, I was bobbing my head and tapping my fingers in time to the beat.

  I scanned my kitchen for the napkins I’d ordered, trying to ignore the mess I’d left in there from the last batch of cupcake icing I’d done. Blobs of white liquid congealed on the work surfaces. It was chaos, but for once it didn’t bother me. I’d get round to cleaning it when I had a minute. Ms Norris had always wanted me to get a hobby and I’d realised how happy baking made me. The satisfaction in creating something from scratch, and then seeing how happy it made other people, was infectious.

  My phone was ringing in my pocket. I ignored it, it was probably Frank telling me to forget it and come back to man the fort. Where were the napkins? I tore around the kitchen, flinging open cupboard doors to look for the box I clearly remembered putting in a safe space. I hurried into the lounge, my phone falling silent. I dropped to my knees and reached under the coffee table, trying to wiggle out the cardboard box that I’d squeezed into the tight space. My phone began to ring once more. I glanced at the screen, it was Mum. I quickly pressed answer, even though I really didn’t really have time to chat.

  ‘Gracie! How are you? I was just about to pop in to see you but I remembered that last time you didn’t seem so keen on me just turning up.’

  ‘Oh, er, well, now’s not such a good time actually, Mum. I’m just going out.’

  ‘Out? Out where? You never go out.’

  I let that comment pass.

  ‘I’m going to this work thing I’ve organised. You can come along if you’d like?’ I offered, without thinking. Where had I put those napkins?

  ‘It’s not some evening funeral is it?’ I could picture her shivering at the thought.

  ‘No, it’s actually quite uplifting. Well, I’m hoping it will be.’ If anyone turns up. ‘I’ve been put in charge of our annual remembrance service, but I’m running late myself.’

  I hung up after giving her the directions, not expecting her to show up, but hoping that it wouldn’t just be Frank, Linda and I, with a mountain of food and unlit candles. I’d been too busy planning the event, and I hadn’t given much thought to whether people were going to make it or not. I suddenly felt overcome with nerves. I didn’t have the best track record. I shuddered, thinking back to the painful solitary wait during the first Ask A Funeral Arranger event, then smiled at how that had actually ended up being the best thing I’d ever organised.

  *

  I pulled up at the church car park but could hardly get through the throngs of people milling around. There was another event taking place there at the same time! Frank would be furious. There would never be enough parking spaces for two functions. I took a deep breath. If I had learnt anything, it was that I had to let go of the frantic control I felt I needed to put on everything. So what if two events were taking place? The more the merrier. I hoped.

  I got out of the car. The old Grace would have been exploding with anxiety at such a change in events. New Grace was totally breezy about this… sort of. I cast my mind back to the chat I’d had with the venue organiser. No, I was sure it was just for us. Then what were all those people doing there?

  ‘Grace!’ Linda waved. She grinned manically from behind the food stall. Half of my cakes had gone already.

  ‘Look at this place. I’ve never seen this service so busy before.’ She beamed as I squeezed into a tight gap behind the trestle table. ‘Here’s the star baker herself!’ she said loudly to the cluster of women in front of us.

  ‘You made these?’ a woman I didn’t recognise asked, crumbs from Ms Norris’s blueberry and avocado tart spraying in the air as she spoke.

  I nodded.

  ‘You’re wasted working with dead people if this is what you can do!’ A few people behind her murmured in agreement.

  I felt my cheeks heat up.

  ‘It’s my friend’s recipe. Ms Norris. She’s the real star baker.’ I could feel my throat clog with emotion but swallowed it down.

  ‘You tell her she’s a genius!’

  ‘Thank you. Wow. Where did all these people come from?’ I asked Linda, smiling at her rosy cheeks and the slight sheen on her forehead.

  It felt like the whole town had turned out. With all these people chatting and laughing and eating, it felt like a celebration of some sort, a party for those who could
n’t be there in person. Exactly the mood I’d hope to create.

  ‘I know. Frank’s beside himself. If you can get even half of them to sign up to a prepaid plan then you’ll easily have beaten my target!’

  I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.

  ‘I think you’re still way in the lead,’ I said without a hint of bitterness.

  ‘Hmm, well, you put up a good fight.’ She gently nudged me then lowered her voice. ‘Seriously though, Grace, I’m impressed. None of my events have ever been as packed as this. I mean, I have to admit that I was sceptical about the party games area…’ I followed her gaze to a section I’d decorated in bunting and helium balloons. Large bubbles spraying out of hidden bubble machines filled the air. That was another reason I’d wanted to cater it myself, so I had the cash to spend on things like that.

  ‘You don’t think the music’s too loud?’ I winced as an uplifting pop song played from two speakers.

  Linda shook her head. ‘It’s like a party, not a depressing ritual. Seriously, you’ve done a great job.’

  That was high praise indeed, coming from her.

  ‘I think the free cakes might have something to do with the number of people here,’ I grinned.

  She gave my arm a friendly pat then tried to stop two women from squabbling over the last Moroccan lamb and butternut squash filo pastry.

  ‘There’s another lot coming out soon, ladies!’

  I gazed out at the crowd, smiling as people cooed over the food. My food. Ms Norris’s food. I felt a prickle of pride watching it all play out. She’d wanted her recipes to get into as many people’s hands as possible.

  ‘Grace!’ my mum shouted, pulling me close to her. She looked well, the best I’d seen her in a while. ‘You organised this?’

  I nodded. ‘I didn’t think you’d come, Mum. I know what I do isn’t your cup of tea and –’

  She shushed me. ‘I’m so proud of you. Look at this place, it’s absolutely packed. I’ve been telling everyone that I’m your mum, so many people have told me just how wonderful you are and how much you’ve helped them.’ Were those tears appearing in her eyes? ‘It’s incredible what you do for others.’

  Callum’s face swam into my mind. He was the one person I desperately wanted to fix, and I couldn’t. I had to stop myself from hoping that I might spot his face amongst the crowd. His broad shoulders in a sea of bodies. Of course he wasn’t going to be here, despite him being one of the first people I invited.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘Grace. Have you got a minute?’ Frank called, beckoning me over. He was holding a microphone in his hand, looking at it as if it might bite him.

  ‘Better go, Mum. Thanks for coming. It means a lot.’ I squeezed her, then zigzagged my way through the crowd of familiar faces.

  I spotted Nigel standing by the coconut shy, cheering as Dawn effortlessly knocked one to the floor. A young girl – Dawn’s, judging by the identical hair colour – raced to collect it and passed it to her uncle. Looking at them you would never have known that they had been at the point of violence, just a few months ago, over the colour of wood for their mum’s coffin. Time heals all. Feuds are dealt with as family dynamics shift. I could imagine them saying to one another how their mum would have loved this. That just because she wasn’t here, didn’t mean they shouldn’t continue to spend time together as a family. It just altered things. Death did that. You learnt to figure out a new normal. You were never able to fill the void left behind, but you could at least begin to patch up some of the empty edges. You would grieve for as long as you breathed, it just wouldn’t be as all-consuming as when it had first smacked you. I knew that to be true.

  A slim arm pulled at my sleeve. I turned to see. I was met with the grinning faces of Rachael and Tom, Daisy’s parents. Rachael pulled me into a hug. I jolted backwards for a micro-second. There was something in the space between us. She laughed at the surprise on my face.

  ‘Yep, we’re expecting again.’ She caressed her slightly swollen tummy and radiated a look of pure love down at the tight fabric holding new life and new beginnings.

  Tears pricked my eyes. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘It’s still early days, and, well you never know what could happen…’ Tom trailed off, following a loaded look from his wife.

  ‘We’re staying positive,’ she said resolutely.

  He nodded and flung a protective arm around her.

  ‘I think he wants to wrap me in bubble wrap and hide me in a cave for the rest of the pregnancy. To be honest, I thought that would be how I’d feel too but,’ she jutted her chin out, ‘you can’t live in fear that something will go wrong, can you? A day doesn’t go by when we don’t think of Daisy, and we wanted to thank you for all you did for her and for us. We will never forget your kindness.’

  I tried to gulp a breath of air. My throat swollen with emotion. ‘It was my honour.’

  I caught Frank waving at me from the corner of my eye.

  ‘Excuse me, I have to go.’

  ‘Of course! Thank you for inviting us tonight. I hope it will be on every year so we can bring this little one to remember his or her big sister.’ Her voice was breaking slightly as she caressed her stomach.

  I gave her a gentle hug, careful not to squeeze too tight, and made my way over to Frank.

  ‘Grace, am I OK to go on? Are you sure you don’t want to say a few words first? It is your night, after all.’ A few beads of sweat had appeared above his top lip.

  I shook my head. It was his time to shine, Ryebrook Funeral Home’s time, not mine. ‘You’ll be great. Do you need me to get you a glass of water?’

  He nervously ran a finger under his shirt collar. ‘No, no, I’d better get it over with.’

  I’d never imagined Frank to be so scared of public speaking. The music was turned down, the chatter silenced by the tap-tapping on a microphone. Frank had taken to the small stage, still pulling at his collar as if he was being strangled.

  ‘Er, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. If I could have your attention for just a moment? My name is Frank Burns and I’m the owner of Ryebrook Funeral Home.’ He cleared his throat. I remembered, with a wry smile, thinking when I first met him how differently his company might have fared if he’d used his surname for the name of the business.

  ‘I wanted to welcome you all to our annual Love of My Light service. This is a time for both reflection, and to give thanks to those who’ve been by your side through the hard times. We understand that no words will take away any of the pain of losing a loved one, but by coming together and marking this night with love and light, we hope to keep their memories alive. I’d like to say a huge thank you to my amazing colleagues Linda Bates and Grace Salmon, who we have to thank for this carnival-like atmosphere today.’ My cheeks flamed as a few people turned and raised glasses in my direction. ‘We should remember our loved ones as they were in life. Celebrating them and all they meant to us. Death isn’t the end of the relationship we have with them. I can personally imagine my late wife Margaret having a go on the carousel.’ In all these years working for him he’d never mentioned his wife. He smiled. ‘She’d have to beat me to it!’

  He’d almost balked when I’d told him of my plans for the entertainment but now, surrounded by joviality not sorrow, he seemed grateful that he’d given me the chance.

  ‘What I would like you all to do now, before we get back to the celebrations and the buffet, is to invite you to come to the front and join us in lighting a candle in memory of a loved one. Perhaps take a moment to collect your thoughts and then place the candles on the row of shelves behind. Obviously these are real flames so please be responsible. I will stop wittering on now and let you all experience what we do at Ryebrook Funeral Home. Our aim is to bring light into a dark time, and here, this evening, I’m sure that this will be achieved.’

  He took an awkward bow at the smattering of applause and shuffled from the stage, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead and giving me a
thumbs-up.

  ‘How was I?’

  ‘Great.’ I smiled then paused. ‘Actually, do you mind if I do say something?’

  ‘Of course not. This is your event, Grace.’ I saw a surprised look pass between him and Linda. Grace Salmon, the wallflower, wanted to get on stage and speak, but I did. I really did.

  I willed my legs to walk the short distance into the spotlight and cleared my throat, blinking back the light and the blur of faces before me. Gosh, there were actually quite a lot of people here. Come on, Grace. I wanted to do this for Ms Norris, for Henry and Sam, for me.

  ‘Excuse me.’ The microphone buzzed as I banged it too close to my lips. I winced. ‘Sorry, if I can just have your attention for a moment longer?’

  The murmuring crowd died down and conversations ceased as people turned to face me.

  ‘My name is Grace Salmon and I’d just like to add to what Frank has said.’ I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth as the many pairs of inquisitive eyes fixed on me.

  ‘One of the things we at Ryebrook Funeral Home are conscious about not saying to anyone who walks in through our door is “I know how you feel”. People may have said this to you to try and be helpful, as we can all recognise just how helpless you can be at a time of loss, but it’s such a meaningless phrase. No one apart from you knows how you feel. I know how I feel, but you don’t, and vice versa.’ I paused. ‘Grief can feel so utterly alienating and lonely. It’s like no one in the whole world understands what you’re going through. Except, well, the thing is, we know more than we realise we do.

  ‘Look around at those next to you. The thing that you, and the woman on your left or the man on your right, the thing everyone in this room has in common, is that you’ve all experienced loss. This room is full of others who are on this journey with you. We all know a little about how the person next to us is feeling: the hurt, the pain, the regrets and the emptiness. Those stood shoulder to shoulder with you, these perfect strangers know this too.

  ‘It’s taken me a while to realise this. In fact, it’s taken me many years to understand that although I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, just as you don’t know exactly what I’m going through, I do know that we have grief and loss in common. We’re not in this alone. I learnt this thanks to a group of unlikely friends who met in a musty-smelling church hall every Friday evening. This collection of people, who have all loved and lost, are now very good friends, but new members are always welcome to join even if it is a club membership no one really wants.’