by Carrie Adams
Rose knocked on my temporary bedroom door.
“Come in.”
I was standing in front of a full-length mirror watching a woman of a certain age, dressed in black, stare back at me. It didn’t matter how often I looked away, whenever I looked back, there she was, checking me out. I didn’t recognize her, but she seemed to know me. I wanted to find an ally standing opposite me, someone who would support me over the next forty-eight hours, someone who’d confirm that I was doing the right thing—but what I saw in her eyes was disapproval. When I started to cry, it made her feel bad. I knew this because she started trying to cheer me up. She pulled funny faces, she poked out her tongue and pushed up her nose like a piggy-wig would, but it didn’t work, she could not get me to smile. I’d seen the look she’d given me, it was no trick of the light. She was not impressed and I had a horrible feeling I knew why. “The twins are ready,” said Rose.
Rose and I had debated what we would do about the twins and the funeral, and come to the conclusion we would take them. I was not going to miss it and I would not have asked Rose to. Neither of us wanted to go, but someone had to represent Helen in this circus.
“I can’t go looking like this,” I said to Rose, marching out of the guest room and into Helen’s. I flung open the wardrobe door and scrawled through the clothes. I found a fur-trimmed vintage pink Vivienne Westwood coat and a magnificent Philip Treacy hat. I took off my sensible black heels and donned a pair of black patent stilettos that rose me up to an easy six foot. No one could miss me now. Then I went to the pile of photograph albums that I had taken to bed every night and pulled out all the ones I could find of Helen smiling. Lastly, I grabbed a beautifully framed photo of the twins with their mother looking relaxed and easy in one another’s company. I didn’t care what happened at St. John’s, or what Marguerite had planned; the girl I knew would remain in front of me. I would think of her and only her, so help me God. Rose and I took one baby each and left the house.
Leaning against the railings opposite the church was a boy in an ill-fitting suit, tugging at his exposed shirtsleeve. He saw me pushing my weighty charges up the hill towards him and immediately straightened up. He looked very serious as he crossed the road towards me. My godson. Trying, I now recognized, to be as grown up as he’d ever feel.
“Hi, Tessa,” said Caspar, lolloping down to greet us. “Mum and Dad are inside already. Need a hand?”
“Thanks,” I said, slightly panting. Caspar got behind the huge contraption. I introduced him to Rose; he politely shook her hand before taking over pushing the twins. Today Caspar was appearing as Model Teenager. I looked at him closely; it wasn’t an act I wholly believed in any more. “I wasn’t expecting you here,” I said.
“I’ve only come to nick a few fivers out of the collection plate.”
My mouth dropped open.
“I’m joking. God, lighten up.”
“Not a good day for jokes,” I replied.
He shrugged. I took it as an apology. “I thought you might need cheering up, you always tell me it was one of the few things I do best.”
“One of the many things you do, Caspar. Not few.”
He squinted at me.
I nodded, encouragingly. “One of the many,” I repeated. We crossed the road and stopped at the gate of the church. People were still arriving. Blacks, greys and navy blues. People stared distrustfully at my pink coat. Rose fiddled with Bobby’s harness and silently passed him to me. I put him on my hip.
“I just wanted to make sure you were OK,” said Caspar, tickling the baby under his chin and immediately getting a smile. “I know Helen was one of your best friends. And I know you don’t like doing these things alone.” He was talking like an adult, but he couldn’t quite look me in the eye. It was easier to tickle Bobby under the chin. I’d been doing much the same for three days. I watched him take a deep breath and force himself to face me. “So, I’m here if you need an arm to lean on, but it looks like you’ve got your arms full.”
I took his arm before he managed to move away. “There’s always room for you, my friend.”
“We are friends again, right, Tessa?”
“Right, Caspar. But there are conditions with friendships,” I said. “You don’t steal off a friend, you don’t lie—”
“You don’t look through their things.”
“No, you don’t and I’m very sorry about that. Let’s say we’re even. From now on I’ll leave all the shitty stuff to your parents. They will love you no matter what; I, on the other hand, have limits.”
Caspar nodded.
“But it would be nice if you could give your mum a break, eh, Caspar?”
He exhaled loudly. “All right, all right, but even you’ve got to admit they’re a pair of do-gooders, and sometimes it just gets up my nose.”
I forced my smile into a frown. “Come on, this baby is getting heavy.”
Rose came and stood next to me with Tommy.
“They look like the Sopranos,” said Caspar, eyeing the twins with blatant pity.
“They do not,” I exclaimed, covering Bobby’s ears. “They’re beautiful.”
Caspar just rolled his eyes at me and led me to the church.
It was packed. I walked in with Caspar on one side and Rose on my other. We carried our charges like armor. Every pew we walked past was full. People in somber suits craned their necks to have a look at us. At first I looked back, hoping to see a friendly face, but I didn’t recognize anyone. No one I knew, anyway. There were newsreaders, journalists, comedians, television presenters—all of Marguerite’s crowd. The crowd she loved, the crowd Neil aspired to, the crowd Helen never felt comfortable in. They were all there, in their funereal best. Proud in Helen’s pink coat, I pushed up my chin and walked on. Caspar went and sat with his parents. When I took my place in the “family” pew, I looked down at Bobby. He was staring wide-eyed at me, his little lower lip jutting out and his brow furrowed.
“Hush, little one,” I whispered. “Everything is going to be all right, I promise you.” I kissed the soft folds of skin under his chin. Immediately he smiled. Children are amazing like that. Their emotions are fluid, they come and go. There is no harboring, no stagnation. That all comes later.
I opened the service sheet. After the second hymn was my bit. “Desiderata,” by Max Erhmann. It was the only thing Marguerite had conceded on. She wanted me to read something from Shakespeare. I adored Helen for many reasons; her love of English literature was not one of them. An extract from a Jilly Cooper novel would have been more appropriate. But Marguerite was busy rewriting history and my input was not welcome. I only got “Desiderata” past the old witch because Helen had it framed by her dressing table. Marguerite had complained that it was too long. I told her it was either that or I said a few words myself. Funnily enough she accepted—the last thing she wanted was someone working off the script.
The music changed tempo and I knew the terrible moment had arrived. I turned in my seat. Four rows back, on the other side of the church, sat Ben and Sasha. Sasha blew me a kiss, Ben stared. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. I had no time to think because suddenly the doors were open, and there was Marguerite. Beside her was an elderly couple holding hands. They were small and wide and together. Marguerite was tall and thin and alone. Behind them were two coffins. Bobby could not see what I was seeing, but I shielded his eyes anyway, and rocked him gently side to side. His eyes started to close as if some sixth sense was telling him to vacate the premises, Tommy’s too. I heard Marguerite take her place in front of us. Her heels clicked as they always had. Neil’s parents didn’t make a sound, but I saw Neil’s mother looking towards the twins. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. Neil’s mother. I hadn’t thought about a mother. She looked devastated.
As the cortège passed our pew, I looked again. There may as well have been no coffin, so clearly did I see my friend lying inside. I’d been doing fairly well up until that point, but then I lost it. I didn’t listen to a word the vic
ar said, though I’m sure it was all very sensitive; he’d christened their children so at least he had known them.
We stood and sang. I cried. Not noisily. Painfully. Rose tried to comfort me, but I was beyond comforting. I didn’t want to be comforted. Bobby lay asleep in my arms, he didn’t flinch when a tear landed on his cheek. I heard the door to the church open again, but didn’t think to look around. I wasn’t interested in latecomers. I just wanted the coffin lid to pop open and Helen to come bursting out and tell us that it had been a horrible joke. Maybe Neil was in on it too. That sort of dark humor was too avant-garde for him, but he might have been willing to try it out. Then again, maybe the joke was on him and Helen had in fact killed her husband.
“Budge up,” said a voice as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Budge up? I looked up from under the rim of Helen’s magnificent hat and saw Claudia and Al looking down at me. Claudia burst into tears as soon as our eyes met. I take it back—I thought I’d lost it earlier, but when I saw Claudia cry, I howled. Marguerite turned in her seat to see who was making the commotion; when she saw us, her eyes narrowed. I shimmied down the well-rubbed wooden pew to make room for my friends. I couldn’t understand why they had suitcases with them. There were so many questions—how, why, when, what—but the vicar cleared his throat and we settled into line. Al and Claudia, me and Rose. The forces were gathering. Claudia held out her arms to take Bobby, and silently I handed him over. Rose passed me Tommy. I guess she knew I needed something to hold on to. Each with a baby in one arm, Claudia and I held hands, turned our faces to the front and, with dry eyes now, joined the funeral.
Eventually it was my turn to stand. I handed Tommy back to Rose and took my place at the lectern. I looked at the people, then down to my paper.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all people.
I paused. Without surrender.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others.
Speak your truth.
I looked at Marguerite, then back to the script. Then I looked at Claudia and Al and two orphaned boys, then I looked back at Marguerite. I could feel her fury.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t do this.” I faced the congregation. “You’ve got the poem right there, you don’t need me to read it to you.” I looked back at the coffin. “Helen knew these words by heart.” I swallowed. “She clung to them, my lovely, exotic, crazy friend, but they weren’t enough. You have to be guided in this world. It’s too big a place for anyone to deal with alone. She thought she was a child of the universe. I used to love that about her; it felt so free, so wild, but I think it cost her dearly and constricted her more than any of us will ever know.”
I looked out at the sea of faces, faces I didn’t know, then back at Helen’s coffin. “I’m sorry that I let you down, I’m sorry that I didn’t understand how hard marriage and having kids is, and I’m so sorry that I turned home because I couldn’t face the traffic when I should have come to see you. We should have talked more. I wish you were here, Helen. I wish you could have seen yourself as those who loved you saw you. But you’ve left your mark. Everything good about you is in those boys; I can see your potential in them whenever I look at them. I promise you I’ll make sure that this time they’re nurtured and encouraged. And whether you like it or not, I’ll tell them about all the ridiculous scrapes you got us into.”
I found the strength to raise my head. “I don’t think Helen is in that box. I don’t think she’s a child of the universe either, she’s right here.” I pointed at the second pew. “Grounded, at last. In Tommy and Bobby.” I looked back at my piece of paper. “So, to cut to the chase:
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
I looked up and saw Ben watching me.
Be careful.
Strive to be happy.
I stepped down from the lectern, took my seat and started to shake. Claudia took my hand again, and held it until the service was over.
Thankfully, polite conversation was not required, so when we all filed out of the church and waited to be directed up to the graveyard, my proximity to Ben and Sasha was not made more uncomfortable by the obvious absence of our usual chat. I saw James Kent leave the church. I was deeply ashamed of my behavior—yes, I’d been duped, but mad psycho-bitch wasn’t my style. I wanted to apologize, or at least offer to pay him back, but he never looked our way and I didn’t see him again at the wake. I saw Neil’s parents emerge from the church followed by a younger woman with two small girls in tow. The vicar came up behind them, looked at me, then placed his arms around them and guided them over to the other side of the church. They stood talking in a quiet huddle when Marguerite appeared and called the vicar over. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t want to leave them. I watched them for a while; at one point both of the women caught my eye, but they quickly looked away. I wanted to introduce myself, but the vicar instructed those who were family and close friends to follow him for the internment. Up ahead the two coffins sat on wooden boards. Alongside them were two hillocks of AstroTurf. It was supposed to hide the sticky earth that would soon be dumped on top of them. No amount of landscape gardening could mask what was taking place.
The coffins were lowered into the gaping wound in the ground that was to be Helen and Neil’s final resting place. Kindly words were spoken by the vicar, then people started to trickle off. People once again found their voices, but I couldn’t move and I couldn’t speak. On the other side of the graves stood Neil’s elderly parents. The people who’d held him like I held Bobby now. In fact, I was holding their grandson, yet we might as well have been at different funerals for all the contact we’d had. Marguerite barely looked their way. This was all a mad scam, and now these two people were going to lie side by side, rotting away, like their marriage. I wanted to get Helen out of there. Out of the box. Out of the hole.
“Tessa?” It was Al. Tall and strong. He put his arm around my waist gently and pulled me back from the edge. He held on to me for a while, and when it was only our little group standing by the open grave, he whispered to me. “We’ve brought something.”
I looked up. Claudia gave Tommy back to Rose. “We brought it all the way.”
“I was terrified we’d get stopped in Customs.”
I frowned. Al brought a jar out of his coat pocket. It was full of a whitish powder.
“What is that?” asked Ben.
“Sand,” exclaimed Claudia.
“From Vietnam,” said Al.
I nearly fell to my knees.
“It was the weirdest thing, Tessa. We’d been in the jungle, and the hotel guy said they’d drop us off in Hanoi as they were going off to look at a competitor’s site elsewhere.”
“China Beach,” said Al, interrupting.
“Let me tell.”
“Sorry.”
“I’d just got your emails, all of them. I ran out to tell Al about Helen. He was talking to the hotel guy about China Beach. Not any old beach, China bloody Beach—I couldn’t believe it. So I said, ‘We’re coming with you.’ I figured we had enough time to collect some sand, get to Saigon, and get here.”
“And we just made it.”
She held up the coffee jar. “So here it is. Couldn’t take the girl to the beach, so we brought the beach to the girl.”
I thought I was going to cry, but I didn’t, I laughed in wonderment. The noise woke up Bobby and I swear on Helen’s soul, for perhaps that’s what I was looking at, he laughed for the very first time, not his usual chuckle but a long, spontaneous, joy-filled, happy laugh. He set the dormant laughter off in the rest of us. As the sand ran through my hands and girl and beach were reunited, I thought yes, with all its sham and drudgery and broken dreams, it was still a beautiful world.
Th
e last thing I placed inside the grave before turning away and leaving Helen for good, was the photograph of her with the boys. Frame and all, it went into the hole in the ground. And then we all moved away, out of the graveyard, away from the church. As the distance between ourselves and the graves increased, the atmosphere changed. We started talking again, as the group of friends we were.
“I didn’t realize Helen struggled with so many things,” said Francesca.
“I knew the relationship with her mother was bad, and the last time we spoke she told me things with Neil were coming to a head,” said Claudia.
“When was that?” I asked.
“Just after I arrived in Singapore.”
“I hate to leave her there with him,” I said.
“She’s not in there, Tessa. What you said in the church was right. It’s the boys we’ve got to concentrate on now,” said Claudia.
“What you said was amazing,” said Francesca.
Ben threw his arm over my shoulder. “Yeah, I’m so proud of you.” I stopped in my tracks, creating a pedestrian pile-up.
“We all are,” said Al, ushering me on.
“Was their marriage really bad then?” asked Sasha.
I nodded. I couldn’t speak to her. It was terrible. I wanted to throw Ben’s arm off me.
“She told me that he’d slept with someone,” said Claudia.
“I think it was more than one someone,” said Ben.
There was a collective murmur of disapproval.
“I need a drink,” said Al. “Look, there’s a pub, let’s go and drink to Helen.”
It was all so sad, but the weight of Ben’s arm kept distracting me. “Good idea,” said Francesca. We walked towards the pedestrian crossing.
“Why didn’t she leave?” asked Sasha.
“Sasha,” warned Ben, turning back to his wife.
“What?”
While Ben was looking backwards, Nick came up between us and, wrapping his long arms around us both, separated us. I finally exhaled.