by Jo Smedley
Lesley had lived alone since Russ had left.
That of course we knew to be untrue now, as Russ hadn't so much left as relocated his sleeping arrangements.
Lesley had been complaining of odd noises in the house.
Now that we knew where Russ had been sleeping that was hardly surprising...
Lesley worked in one of the big fish factories on the Pyewipe. (The Pyewipe was the big industrial estate on the outer edges of the town.)
Russ had confirmed the same, even given us the name of the company and her position within the accounts department, but that was it. Like most men he hadn’t really been all that interested in what his wife actually did. Given that Lucus had no idea I had broken into two houses within the last few weeks, it didn’t seem all that surprising Russ had no idea about Lesley’s working day.
Lesley kept herself to herself.
Well, well away from Dodger’s mum at least. Given the amount of gossip we'd heard from the woman I think I would have kept myself to myself, too. We knew from what Russ had told us that she had an active social life, she was even part of a Roller Derby team. She was hardly a loner. She just avoided Dodger’s mum, something I would be doing myself from now on!
Lesley was found by the postman.
He'd always delivered the mail to the side door, the same door we had broken in through, and had arrived to find the door swinging open. He’d looked in and seen her body bloody on the floor, knife sticking out of her back, and assumed the house had been broken into and Lesley stabbed. He'd been in a dreadful state, according to Dodger’s mum, needing a hot sweet tea. Someone else from the post office had been called in to finish his round. There were all sorts of facts she’d found out about the poor man. His children, his hobbies, his biscuit likes and dislikes. He must have regretted agreeing to the supposedly calming mug.
Irene watched me over the rim of her teacup.
I said nothing, but I saw Irene’s face change. She knew she’d won me over. I passed Lillian her beaker cup. She took a few hearty gulps and then tossed it on the floor with a triumphant "Ha!" I looked at her. She smiled. Ha, indeed!
Irene bent down to pick it up. She smiled at Lillian and placed the cup on her table. Lillian threw it down a second time with another “Ha!”
“Just leave it,” I said. “She could do this all morning.” I passed her another lump of scone.
“So you'll come?”
“I never said I'd come.”
“But I need you there.”
“Why?”
She might have convinced me to get involved, but I wanted to hear her reasoning, wanted confirmation that I was indeed valuable, not some throw away resource. It went without saying that one of us should go, but why did we both have to be there? I had Lillian after all.
“Two heads are better than one. We'll see more, hear more between us. You see things, remember?”
“What about Lillian?”
“Bring her. There's nothing like a kid at a funeral to break the ice.”
“You can't be serious.” I bent down to pick up the tippy cup now that Lillian was otherwise engaged.
“They don't last long, and it's only at the crem. And I know you don’t want to tax Helen. Trust me. We'll be in and out in fifteen minutes, max. Just bring her a load of raisins. Pick you up at tomorrow? 11?”
And before I’d even had the chance to straighten up again and return the cup to the table Irene had gone, walked out of the cafe, meeting concluded. Her super-fast exit ensured I couldn't make any more protests, and she already knew I wouldn't turn her down when she arrived at my door the next day. It just saved any long, protracted negotiations. Irene wasn’t one to pander to an ego, even if it belonged to her best friend.
“EEEeeeeeeeeaaaaaaAAAH-!” squealed Lillian, ending with a high pitched delighted hiccup. She pointed across to a guide dog who'd just walked in with his owner. She threw the small nugget of scone I'd only recently passed her in the vague direction of the dog. It landed on my trousers, smearing them with sticky cream. Clearly Lillian had finished, too. It was time to leave.
Chapter Ten
Irene was at the door bang on eleven. I hadn't expected anything less.
“Ready?”
Irene was dressed almost exclusively in black. The best I'd managed was a grey pair of trousers and a dark top. Had we had a recent bereavement in the family I would undoubtedly have owned a suitable ensemble, but our respective families were all relatively healthy. The last funeral Lucus had attended was for a great aunt and being a man, he had simply purchased a black tie to go with one of his work suits. I hadn't yet attended a funeral. My granddad had died before I was deemed old enough to attend one, and as a child I had returned from school the day of his funeral to a houseful of dark clothed adults and a partially cleared buffet, laden with quiche and various finger foods.
While funerals weren't an everyday facet of life for us, for someone Irene's age I supposed they were just another regular life event, much as all the christening dates had been for us. I wondered how many friends and family she'd lost in recent years. I suspected they hadn’t arranged the funeral for her friend Jean yet, which meant today was almost a dress rehearsal without the emotional attachment. I wondered if she’d wear the same outfit that day, or if she had a special one put to one side.
She looked at Lillian. This morning I’d dressed her in a cute little outfit of lilac and purple. It was the nearest to black I could accomplish but at least it was clean. I'd only just wrestled her into it, having let her slob in her baby grow all morning. I hoisted the navy changing bag onto my shoulder, glad that I hadn't succumbed to purchasing the bright coloured modern one I'd seen just a few weeks ago. The strap at the side was still broken and the zip popped if I let it run all the way to the middle, but it did the job and for a funeral it was perfect. Not least because it had various compartments I'd filled with biscuits, raisins and water filled tippy cups.
I strapped Lillian into her car seat and then hoisted that into Irene's car. Lucus had asked me just this morning where we were going. I'd told him a play area. He would never have agreed to me taking Lillian to a funeral. Which meant this was yet another in my growing list of secrets. His easy acceptance of my lies made me wonder how many lies he'd slipped past me.
Maybe it was as Irene said... people see what they expect to see. She was an almost pensioner with a mild manner and a natural gentleness which put people at their ease. She had pleasant laughter lines around her eyes and today her slightly papery skin shone with some sort of moisturiser and her small freckles had given her a slightly suntanned look. She didn’t look the housebreaking, funeral-crashing type.
As we drove towards the crematorium we were passed by an empty hearse going the other way. It reminded me how much on the clock these places were. Fifteen minutes and that was your whack. In and out with as much ceremony as could be squeezed into that time, a quick roll through the curtain and goodbye Auntie Flo.
“It’s better than a grave,” Irene said suddenly, having seen my gaze. “I want to be scattered at sea. I hate gravestones.”
Coming from someone who walked around the cemetery with me on sunny days admiring the statues and remarking on the various comments left on people's headstones, she surprised me.
“Really?”
“Horrible things. They're never maintained and the flowers are left to rot, just like the body underneath. Much better to have nothing left but memories. No reminders. Besides, head stones are expensive.”
I grinned. Typical Irene, always bringing things back to the practical level.
“She'll have a headstone of course. ‘Tragically taken’ I should think.”
There were a number of similar epitaphs in the new section of the cemetery; various young men who’d fallen victim to car accidents, and ‘little angels’ who’d died suddenly in the children’s section. It was always a poignant reminder to me of how lucky I was that Lillian was so well. Regardless of how difficult her teething was,
at least she was still screaming. How awful it must have been for those young mothers whose houses had suddenly fallen totally silent. Moss was always on the lead in the new section and we always walked past respectfully; neither of us speaking until we passed the last dangling mobile and teddy statue placed by the plots.
We pulled into the car park. It wasn't full, but there were people dressed in greys and blacks walking both into and out of the driveway leading up to the crematorium.
“We're still a little early I think.” Irene said. “Someone her age, I expect it'll get quite busy. Work colleagues, family, friends, even family friends.”
“And total strangers,” I added. “Will they bring Russ?”
“No. I expect as he’s still the primary suspect in the case he won’t be allowed to pay his respects. Shame. It would have given the lad some closure.”
I hauled Lillian out of the car seat and grabbed the changing bag and suddenly had that terrible sinking feeling. I shouldn’t have let Irene talk me into this. I knew where the crem was in Grimsby, having walked past it on numerous occasions, but I’d not actually thought it through and connected the funeral with the building itself. The word funeral had conjured up images of small cold country churches, tiny congregational gatherings, and despite knowing the circumstances, I suppose I'd just naturally assumed we'd quietly sneak into the back of a church, several pews between us and any grieving family, hidden at the rear in the shadows. Seeing the crem afresh I realised my mistake.
It wasn't a pretty building, it didn't even look vaguely church like. In fact, it looked more like a large council toilet block than anything else. It was red brick, 1950s design, with a flat roof, glass entranceway and a large chimney sticking up at the rear.
Irene knew exactly where we were going and she steered me into a room which looked more like a school hall then a church. It was well lit, high windows casting shafts of light into the room. There were no dark places, no hidden seating. We were going to be very much exposed no matter where we settled.
“Over there,” Irene pointed to the back row nearest the door. “We'll see everyone as they come in.”
Well, everyone else, that was. The room was already half full. I watched Irene studying the faces. There was a group about midway down, mixed ages, mainly women.
“Girls from the office,” she said. “I'll take them.”
On the opposite side were couples, discreet distances between partnerships and the occasional three or foursome.
“Friends of the family. They'll be at the wake. We'll catch them there.”
The rows at front on both sides were clear and I realised there were probably reserved notices on them for the close family. So far none had arrived. They must have been travelling with the hearse in those dark, six-doored cars I'd seen passing the end of our road every day since we moved in.
I rummaged in my bag for the tippy cup and I realised with horror just how loud the rustling sound was in the stillness of the room. Most people were talking in whispers, but just rummaging for the cup had encouraged a good few head turns. An older lady two rows ahead of us grinned at Lillian and she giggled. Her giggle turned a few more heads. Why oh why had I let Irene talk me into this? I unpacked a couple of small animal shaped biscuits and created a little stack beside me. Outside the packet, they could be accessed with minimal noise.
A few more people drifted in and settled themselves behind the work colleagues, and within what seemed like a very short space of time the room filled to capacity.
Suddenly the whispering stopped and an organ I hadn't registered at the front of the building started playing something vaguely classical. It wasn't the funeral dirge I had expected, but it heralded the arrival of the coffin nonetheless.
The pall bearers were all from the funeral parlour. They were similarly attired and each had a look of sombre concentration as they matched steps up the central aisle. Behind them were the family; mother and father, and a couple who were old enough to have been her grandparents. Another middle-aged couple followed behind, perhaps Russ’s parents, it was good of them to turn out, given that the police were currently holding their son, and behind them, a twenty something girl, presumably the sister-in-law. Right behind them was another middle aged couple, perhaps an aunt and uncle. All of them filed into the reserved seating, sitting so close together that there was a full row between the family and the rest of us.
With the coffin lowered gently onto the central pedestal the pall bearers walked to the back of the room, standing with their arms behind their backs while the vicar, or whatever he was, took the short ceremony.
Thankfully it was all over much quicker than I thought; the short eulogy from her mother brought tears to my own eyes, despite the fact I didn't know her. By all accounts she had been a remarkable woman, cut down in her prime, but then, once you were dead, people only ever remembered the good parts.
As the coffin rolled slowly forward through the curtain I said my own short prayer. Not for the family in front of me, but for Lillian. While deaths in childhood were less common now than they used to be, I was faced with the possibility that even if she achieved adulthood, her life might be cruelly snatched from her. I prayed that I wouldn't find myself and Lucus sitting in those front rows like Lesley’s parents; saying goodbye to a daughter who hadn't done anything other than sit down in her own kitchen.
As the family filed past us out of the room to form a reception line of sorts outside, Irene nudged me. She pointed to a knot at the back of the room opposite us.
“Find out who they are,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Just walk over and say how lovely the service was.” And with that she was gone.
I gathered up the remaining stack of biscuits and hefted Lillian onto my hip.
I was just about to cross to my appointed group, probably her Roller Derby team, looking at their shared athletic build, when the older woman from two rows in front accosted me.
“How old is she?” she asked. She was a round lady with a friendly face and I immediately warmed to her.
“Thirteen months.”
"Adorable. She's been very good. You've been very good,” she tickled Lillian. Lillian giggled appreciatively.
“It was a lovely service don't you think?” I used Irene's phrase. This might not have been the contact Irene had elected for me, but it was still someone and she was so much better at the ‘making conversation with total strangers’ thing than I was.
“Yes. Such a tragedy. Did you know her well?”
“No. Not very.”
“She would have loved this little thing.” She tickled Lillian again. “She loved children.”
“She lived nearby,” I offered. “I wanted to... you know... show my respects.” It sounded good, even to my ears. Respectable.
“It was very good of you to come.”
“Are you family?”
“Yes, well, yes and no. Distant I suppose. An adopted aunt you could say. She's been coming to mine for advice for years.” She handed me a card.
“Rose Bloom Spiritual counsellor,” I read.
“Her father died when she was small.” I turned to the door where the man I had assumed to be her father was standing shaking hands.
“Step-father,” Rose offered. “Their relationship was good, but... well... you can't replace your father, can you?”
I looked back at her.
“No,” I said, though I didn't agree. The truth was, I’d quite happily have replaced my own father had my mother found a suitable alternative when I'd been young enough, but she hadn't remarried until I had left university and Steven, though he was lovely, would never be “dad”.
“Have you lost someone close?” she enquired.
“No.”
“I can tell. Your aura is still quite untouched.”
Was it indeed! Deaths weren’t everything, I thought. If only Rose knew what could have “touched my aura”.
“Is this your mum? Hello my dear. I'm Ros
e Bloom”. She shook Irene's hand before I could protest. “You've a darling granddaughter.”
“Isn't she just,” Irene smiled serenely, yet managed to give me a quick stern look as I opened my mouth to contradict. It was quite a feat of facial expression and I marvelled at how she'd managed to pull it off without Rose noticing.
“Yes...,” Rose continued on, “... her poor mother. Husband and daughter. Such a shame.”
“Hmmm...,” sympathised Irene. “Do you know the family well?”
“Oh, not the living ones, no... but I know her father. He's so disappointed she's joined him so soon. He had such high hopes for her.”
“Spiritualist counsellor,” I proffered the card, thus clearing up the momentary confusion on Irene’s face.
“Oh. Very good.” I hadn’t seen Irene lost for words before, but there was a first time for everything it seemed.
Chapter Eleven
If Lucus would have blanched at us attending a funeral, I dreaded to think what he would have thought of me toting his daughter around the sticky carpeted function room of the small pub which had been chosen by the parents as the most appropriate place to host the wake. Then again, compared to breaking and entering, perhaps this was a lesser evil.
Tagging onto the convoy leaving the crematorium had been Irene’s idea. But I’d lost sight of her almost as soon as we’d arrived, which meant I was now standing in a room crowded full of people I didn’t know, exchanging pleasantries about a woman I had never met.
I shuffled Lillian nervously on my hip, dodging a fist of pulverized cheese sandwich which had clearly not passed the taste test. Blending into the corner simply wasn’t a possibility here. A juke box and gambling machines took up any space not already taken by the stained leather upholstered seating, which itself had already been claimed by the older members of the family, the grandparents and their friends, who were resting their tired legs and intermittently sending their spouses off to the bar for just another glass of Sherry then, love.