by Jane Riley
‘Well, go on, you’ve got my attention for as long as this cigarette lasts.’ She lit it and took a puff.
I kept the story simple, telling her how I first met Marie, how we worked together, how I had no idea of her feelings for me, about Henry and the diary. She remained silent throughout, resisting I’m sure the desire to interrupt, ask a question or give an opinion.
‘At least that puts the diary in context,’ she said when I finished. No apologies for her accusations, I noted, or for reading the diary in the first place. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ she added.
‘I tried, back in the bedroom.’
‘I mean before-before. I’ve told you about my cheating ex-husband who I was madly in love with, about falling out with my brother, how I embarrassed myself at a work Christmas party, about guys I’ve dated and wished I hadn’t. I’ve opened up to you about all sorts of things. Yet you’ve told me so little about yourself. So little that’s really true.’
I scuffed leaves off the paving stones. She had a point. I hadn’t opened up to her like she had to me. ‘It wasn’t intentional,’ I said, and apologised again.
She took one last puff of her cigarette and stubbed it out in the nearest planter. For a few seconds we gazed at the moon, a thin sliver of curved silver like one of Jean’s brooches.
‘So do you think this is fate at work? Us standing outside looking at the stars, like we did the night we first met?’ she said.
Where was she going with that?
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but are we friends again at least?’
‘At least?’ she said, turning to me. ‘Oh my God, Oliver, you know how I feel. I want to be with you. Not just as friends but properly, as a couple. I want to know that you’re committed to me, to us, to the future. Maybe to a family of our own, one day.’ Her eyes started watering and I wished I had a freshly ironed handkerchief to give her. ‘And I’m scared, Oliver. I’m scared of being alone.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand.
‘Me, too,’ I said, and I meant it. I didn’t fancy a return to the loneliness of singledom either. The man I wanted to be – the one I had written about in my notebook of resolutions – was not one who was single and alone. He was not cooking meals for one, fantasising about going on solo holidays or talking to dead people as if they were his confidantes.
Yet if I were being even more truthful to myself, I didn’t like the speed at which our relationship was progressing – or, more to the point, the pace Caroline was enforcing. I wanted to like Caroline and was trying really, really hard to make it work. Just like I’d imagined how wonderful it could have been if Marie and I had worked out. But it was all going so fast. The impulsiveness at which I had agreed to sell candles that smell like the dead and suggested our outdoor talk when I was still wrapped only in a towel was as much acceleration as I could handle.
And yet . . . and yet . . . Caroline wanted me. You couldn’t help but be a little flattered by that, could you? She seemed so sure about us that maybe there was something in it. Perhaps I was wrong to doubt and avoid committal. Perhaps I should try and let Marie go and throw myself wholeheartedly into being an official couple with Caroline. For at that moment – despite her grip on my arm – I’d rather have been with Caroline, officially or unofficially. Ideally, not in my bedroom, with the diary, of course. At that moment, I wanted everything to be convivial between us, with no animosity. Whatever the future held, right then I wanted us to be like the complementary matching of cream cheese and smoked salmon, or perhaps a Riesling with a spicy Asian dish, or even imperial stout with dark chocolate truffles – an unusual pairing, you might think, but they really do work together.
I took Caroline’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled and nodded. The truth was we were both feeling the same; we just had different ways of dealing with it.
‘Let’s not argue any more,’ I said.
‘I promise,’ she agreed.
‘So, shall we get ready to party?’
‘Only if you change out of your towel.’ She laughed.
The nursing home call-out was unfortunate timing – we’d only just finished getting ready! I had been so relieved that our dispute was over that I was keen to enjoy the party together. It didn’t help that Caroline pouted when I told her I had to go. ‘I’m on call. It’s the nature of the job, I’m afraid,’ I said, quickly changing into a suit.
‘Have I told you your job sucks?’ I’m sure she meant it in a more jovial way than it came out but I really could have done with some empathy right then. I didn’t want to go as much as she didn’t want me to, now that we’d made up. ‘Go on, off to your little morgue. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Maybe we can catch up at the weekend?’ I said, trying to ignore her petulance.
‘I know,’ she said, her eyes widening. ‘Take me with you.’
‘What?’
‘Show me what you do. I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m there. Oh, yes, that would be fun.’
‘I can’t do that, I’m sorry. There are privacy issues, for starters.’
I thought she’d have left it at that, but no, she didn’t let up.
‘I’ll be quiet, I promise. Anyway, the person who’s died won’t care, will they?’ She started laughing raucously and found it difficult to stop.
‘Sorry,’ I said again.
‘Alright, Mr Humourless. But I’m being serious, you know. You can pretend I’m your helper, a trainee or something. No one will know.’
I looked at what she was wearing. There was so much cleavage it could very well wake the dead, and then everyone would know. Not that I told her that. I didn’t mind her cleavage. It just wasn’t appropriate in either a nursing home or a morgue, where it might lead to all sorts of inappropriate awakenings.
‘I’m sorry, Caroline,’ I said, squeezing her hand.
‘Fine, I’ll go to the party on my own.’
I opened my mouth to speak but the bedroom door slammed. It was a door-slamming-in-your-face moment like the ones you watch in television sitcoms that you think don’t actually happen in real life. Well, it happened to me then and I was left swallowing a whoosh of air and a giant gulp of bewilderment.
I rushed after her but she had already left, leaving the front door wide open. I stood on the threshold, listening to the echo of my voice calling her name. Perhaps I was also hoping she would rush back full of apologies, telling me how sorry she was I had to work and how she couldn’t wait to see me again. When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, I grabbed my car keys and headed to the call-out.
Spermatozoa
I slept in late and woke wondering if the events of the previous evening had really happened. Life seemed to be galloping ahead in the most unexpected and emotional of ways, over which I felt I had no control. I didn’t like upsetting Caroline or her thinking badly of me. Then again, she needn’t have been so petulant about the nature of my work, which she didn’t seem to understand, as others did – Edie being a case in point. What’s more, I was angry. How dare she read the diary in the first place! It wasn’t hers to pick up and open on a whim. It was private property. My private property. Well, and also Marie’s. I pulled it out from under my pillow, where I slept with it last night, kissed its cover and held it to my chest. What a disagreeable state of affairs. As I held the diary close, I swallowed an uncomfortable thought. If the diary could cost me my relationship with Caroline, would I somehow have to try and live without it? Could I actually do that? If I let go of Marie, could I then find true love with Caroline? A flutter of panic tickled my ribcage. Oh, my goodness, Marie, is this what I have to do? Perhaps if I hide you out of sight – properly hide you this time so that neither I nor anyone else can easily see you or find you, then maybe I could give it go. It’s not like I’m throwing you away nor dismissing what we have, is it? We could do a trial run. It could be an experimental resolution.
Without bothering to get my notebook and write it down (it was an experiment, after al
l), I went in search of a suitable hiding place and decided upon the jumper drawer in the wardrobe at the bottom of all my drawers. As it was not yet winter, I would have no need to delve into it for a few months and, if anyone bothered to open that particular drawer, it would only serve to highlight how paranoid and nosey they were. In between five neatly folded jumpers and my favourite button-up forest-green cardigan, I carefully placed the diary. There. Done. It was completely covered, completely hidden in wool. Goodbye, Marie.
I spent the rest of the morning telling myself that no matter how discomfiting and potentially rash-inducing trying to live without Marie might be, I should be proud of myself for having taken action.
Go, Oliver.
When I realised that all there was for lunch was the same as what I’d had for breakfast, I got dressed and headed out the door to buy some provisions. When I returned there was a gift on my doorstep, soon followed by a text from Caroline.
Sorry I missed you. Probably should have called first! I hope you didn’t have to work too late last night. I’ve left a peace offering at your front door to say I’m sorry.
A peace offering to lift my spirits? How lovely of her. She had clearly realised the error of her presumption and was ready to make up. A red rose and a package wrapped in red paper sat on the doormat. My heart swelled like the liver of a fattened goose destined for foie gras. I picked them up and took them inside.
The rose didn’t smell but was a beautiful shade of blood red. I put it in an empty chutney jar with some water – my vase collection consisting of only one large cylindrical number Mum gave me when I moved into my first flat – and unwrapped the gift. The paper sprang open to reveal a box of Lindt chocolate balls and a Blackmores vitamin jar from their Conceive Well men’s range. The sight of it gave me a start. I stepped back from the bench. It wasn’t exactly the sort of peace offering I was expecting.
I stared at the jar and its contents. It was like a cadaver had come to life and I needed a moment to process the shock of this new reality. It only took a couple of seconds, but then I was out of the kitchen and into the living room as quickly as I could, if only to get the offending vitamins out of my line of sight. I rested an arm on the back of a chair and let my head loll. I had come over queasy all of a sudden. But instead of regurgitating the mango smoothie I’d just bought, which would have been most upsetting and such a waste, I started to think. To take stock, properly, of what was happening. My sperm was being hijacked without my consent by the woman with whom I was trying to be in a relationship. Of course, it was flattering that Caroline wanted my sperm to be in optimum condition – what man didn’t want sprightly spermatozoa? But it was also terrifying. And it was terrifying because I wasn’t ready. It was too much, too soon. I thought hard. It may have hurt my head, as had the ice-cold smoothie I’d drunk too quickly, but I had to work out what to do and when. It was especially hard not having Marie or Andy or a cadaver to talk to. I knew they would all have been encouraging me not to commit to something I didn’t want to, yet also telling me that it wasn’t fair to keep Caroline dangling. And so, the conclusion I eventually came to was the resolution I had made a while back: to stand up for myself and, I realised, this was precisely the type of situation which required you to stand up for yourself. Go on, Oliver, stand up for yourself.
I resolved to talk to Caroline.
No, not sometime in the future. It had to be now.
I fetched my phone and started dialling.
No, hang on; these things needed to be done in person.
I picked up the phone again and texted her: Are you home? Can I come over?
Yes, she replied, so quickly it was as if her fingers had been poised and waiting.
Coming now, I texted back.
Caroline answered the door in a fetching dusty-pink dress and matching lipstick. She looked far too glamorous for a Sunday afternoon.
‘You look lovely,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, letting me in.
She offered refreshments, which I accepted on the basis that it would give me more time to pluck up the courage to stand up for myself. I had made the visit; now I had to follow through with my resolve. Once we were settled on her sofa, Caroline sitting closer to me than was ideal for someone about to stand up for themselves, she asked if I had got her present, which annoyed me, as I should have brought it up myself if I was to have the upper hand. But at that point, any hand I could get would be much appreciated.
‘I did get your present, thank you,’ I said. ‘It was very kind of you. That’s sort of why I’m here.’
‘Do you like it?’ she said. ‘I know how much you love chocolate . . .’ A strong whiff of amorousness overpowered her living room; an arm flung itself around me.
‘You know me too well,’ I replied, which was not the reply I should have made, given the other half of the present was something I did not want at all. She was looking at me far more passionately than was desirable, given what I was trying to do. For goodness’ sake, Oliver, hurry up and stand up for yourself. ‘The thing is, Caroline . . .’ I began.
‘Yes . . .?’ She looked at me semi-concerned, semi-expectant. I wondered what she thought I might say.
‘The thing is,’ I repeated, ‘I’m not ready for babies just yet.’
Caroline put a hand to her chest. ‘Oh, wow, Oliver, for a minute there . . .’ She sighed, then started laughing. ‘It’s OK. I understand. Well, I’m trying to understand. But there’s no harm in taking the vitamins, is there? It’s all good preparation for when you are ready.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose it is,’ I agreed.
‘Take one tablet a day and it should keep everything ticking over healthily,’ she said. ‘I bought vitamins for myself as well. It takes two to tango, if you get my drift.’ She laughed.
I didn’t laugh with her.
‘Oh, Oliver, don’t look so worried. I’m just being frank with you. I’d love a baby and I’ve realised I really want one with you. You’re a calm, compassionate funeral director and . . . well . . . think of the children we could have.’
She looked as if about to swoon or perhaps collapse into my chest in a lovingly pleading sort of a way. I got ready to catch her but all she did was look up and flutter her eyelashes.
‘I suppose you could say I’m with you in spirit,’ I said. My experimental resolution with Marie was, I think, working and so there was no reason not to go along with Caroline’s desires, if not practically, at least metaphorically.
‘Oh, thank you, Oliver. I don’t want to rush you but it means a lot to me that we’re on the same page. You know,’ she continued, ‘I don’t know if I should tell you this but before I met you I was looking into sperm donors. I found one that loved swimming . . .’ She paused, as if thinking wistfully about what could have been. ‘But I don’t want to go down that path, not if I can help it.’
I stroked her leg, the one exposed through the slit in her dress. I was both relieved and pleased that not only had I stood up for myself but that I hadn’t scared Caroline off. She appeared open to waiting, which made me feel calmer, and I decided to view the vitamins – should I wish to take them – as healthy preparation for something that may or may not happen in the future. Caroline smiled at me and I smiled back. I almost started thanking Marie in my head for helping me find the courage to stick up for myself but quickly put an end to that. Instead, I pushed her aside and let Caroline gently kiss my lips.
Waxing Lyrical
At work the next morning, Jean came straight into my office, humming. The pearly-blue opal on her brooch caught the light streaking in from the blinds. She looked like someone who had eaten all the pastries in the cake shop.
‘Bill lit me last night,’ she said.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘He loved it. I loved it, too.’ She clapped her hands. ‘If that’s my aroma, then I do smell jolly nice. Oh dear, it’s too funny.’ She put a hand to her chest and hummed again. ‘I tried not to think it was me, though, con
sidering the premise of the candle venture. It’s still a little unnerving.’
‘So do you approve?’
‘Well, I like Edie very much. She appears knowledgeable and is clearly doing this from a good place in her heart. And I can’t deny that she did an excellent job with my candle. So will you be telling Doreen about them now?’
‘Not yet. You know how she is with new ideas,’ I said. ‘Plus, I want to get some sales first, to prove to her that we’re on to something.’ What I really wanted to prove was that I could do it on my own. Edie and the candles would stay my little secret and, for some strange reason, I was liking it that way.
After that Clock & Son went deathly quiet. Even the phone was dead. I chewed my nails and waited two hours for something more to happen than a window cleaner touting for business. I didn’t like turning him away, so I told him he could try again in a couple of months. It’s nice to give people hope or, as I do in my line of business, a little comfort from the pain. I called Caroline, even though she was also at work. We had a brief but, dare I say it, flirtatious conversation full of innuendo which did my Marie-less ego proud and which I hoped went over Jean’s head, had she overheard. Caroline said I should come over to hers sometime that week, which I thought a marvellous idea; the more we stayed away from my place during the early days of the experiment, the better. Eventually we got a walk-in. A man with stringy hair and a prominent nose whose mother had died. I wondered if she took after him and would need an extra-long coffin because of his height. I didn’t get a chance to find out as all he wanted to talk about was her rather than the practical points of organising a funeral. I set aside my questions and let the man speak.
‘She was a trouper, my mum,’ the man said, ‘a real trouper. She hardly ever got sick either. I couldn’t understand it. She never got colds, when there’s me, sniffling and snuffling every winter.’ He shook his head. I copied him in empathy and was about to bring up the subject of the funeral service when the man started up again.