Robbie looked worried.
‘I just found out myself, the police came and told me,’ I couldn’t find the courage to say the words he’s dead.
‘Told you what?’ Robbie’s concern was palpable.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ the swell of emotion hit me like a punch to the head. ‘He died.’
My two eldest children sat perfectly still looking at me. Neither blinked. I stayed quiet for a moment to allow it to sink in. Neither said a word.
‘I am so sorry. It seems he killed himself.’ I swallowed hard. Still not a word from either of them. ‘It’s a lot to take in. I know.’ I bent down on my heels so that we were on the same eye level and reached out a hand to rest on Robbie’s knee. ‘It’s a huge shock.’
‘I’m going to get a glass of water.’ Sue-Ann stood up and walked out of the room. Robbie remained sitting on the couch frozen still staring at me with wide eyes. I went and sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. His body felt tense.
‘Dad.’ Robbie spoke in a half-whisper.
‘I know,’ I cradled his head in my arms.
April 30th 1998
The few weeks leading up to Larry’s funeral were hell. I had lost my husband and my kids had lost their dad. The press shamelessly celebrated his suicide. ‘One less monster in the world’ a headline read. He was called a coward and every other name under the sun. I wanted to scream from the rooftops that that wasn’t my Larry, they’d got it all wrong but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have helped. I had to look after the kids and try and keep us out of the news. Journalists swarmed like flies around Alpha Terrace again.
To begin with I was heartbroken and I was angry. I couldn’t believe Larry had left me. But the day after his body was discovered the prison recovered a letter he had slipped into a book. It was addressed to me.
Darling Dee,
I am sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye but it is better this way. I’m not built for prison. My life should be with you and the kids but now that has gone. I don’t want to stick around.
As long as I am still breathing you will never be able to escape the past.
I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you sitting on that park bench. You are everything to me and I am going to die happy in the knowledge that you can now move on and be free.
I don’t want to grow old in this place so I’ve seen to it that I never will.
Carry me in your heart always and know how much I love those eyes.
Yours,
Larry x
Someone from the prison had seen fit to make a copy. Two days later his private letter to me was on the front of every newspaper.
Sue-Ann refused to talk to me and said she didn’t want to go to the funeral. Robbie stopped talking all together and went into himself. They both remained living with Mary.
Owen and I did our best to carry on. It was strange being back at the house knowing that our family would never be together again.
The only person in the whole world who came to see us and shared our sorrow was Eric, Larry’s brother. He showed up on the doorstep one day carrying four cans of paint.
‘I thought you might want to redecorate.’ He stood awkwardly on the street unable to look me in the eye.
‘That’s a good idea.’ I took one of the pots of paint and let him into the house.
We sat silently at the kitchen table both sipping our tea.
‘He loved you, you know?’ Eric cupped his mug in his hands and looked pensive.
‘I know he did. And I loved him. Even after everything.’ My words tailed off.
‘If you need help organising the funeral…’
‘It will be a small do.’
Eric nodded.
‘Sue-Ann doesn’t want to come.’
‘You can’t really blame her. The kid must be in such a mess. I thought I knew him, you know? He was my brother and I really thought I knew him.’ Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes and for a moment he looked like Larry. A shiver ran down my spine.
‘He was a good man. He did some bad things, made some wrong choices but he was a good man. Never lose sight of that.’ I reached over and squeezed his hand.
‘I’m meant to be the one consoling you.’ Eric sniffed.
‘We can be strong for each other.’ I smiled at him fondly.
‘So, are you going to stay here?’ He looked around the kitchen.
‘No choice. And this is where we were happy. If I leave it’s like I’ve lost my last link to him. I’m not ready to give that up yet.’
‘I think I understand.’ Eric took a mouthful of hot tea. ‘But remember I want you to come to me for anything you need. Funerals are expensive. Let me help you out.’
‘You’re a kind man, Eric. Just like your brother.’
He smiled, finished his tea and got up.
‘Well, better get going. Hope the paint helps.’
‘I’ll let you know when I have a date for the funeral.’ I got up and stretched my arms before giving him a hug. ‘Thanks for everything.’ It was the first time I had shared an intimate moment with a man in such a long time and it felt strangely good.
‘Mum and Dad aren’t coming.’
‘Oh.’ The crematorium was going to be bare.
‘They can’t face it.’ He looked awkward.
‘I don’t blame them. Bloody press round every corner. Why can’t they just leave us alone.’
‘Mum’s in bits. Has been ever since, well, you know.’
‘Yes. I know.’
When Eric left I took a moment to myself and thought about the days ahead. In a way I was pleased I wouldn’t have to face Larry’s aging parents. I could barely cope with my own grief let alone theirs. No doubt his mother was feeling dreadful. Not only had her son been labelled a murderer but also then she had to come to terms with his suicide. It was all so dirty.
I tried to imagine how she must have felt. It was impossible to envisage Robbie or Owen in prison for killing anyone, let alone having to face burying either of them. I shuddered and went back to sorting out the piles of Larry’s belongings on the floor of the sitting room.
On that morning, after I’d put on my black dress and ironed Owen’s little white shirt, I sat alone at the kitchen table watching the hands of the clock. In less than one hour I would be at the crematorium watching my husband’s body disappear forever. It was so surreal. Owen was in his bedroom reading a book. Earlier I’d taken him some toast and told him to stay up there until it was time to go. I couldn’t face him. His little face looked so sad and lost.
Under normal circumstances he and I would have followed the hearse to the cemetery but we were not dealing with normal circumstance. The undertaker, who was very polite and respectful, suggested that they take the coffin directly to the crematorium and that we meet them there. I thanked him for making the suggestion and agreed without hesitation. He assured me that the details of the funeral would remain private and that nobody who worked for his family business would be speaking to the press.
Two days earlier I had visited Larry’s body at the undertakers. I’d already chosen a coffin for him and he was laid out in it, looking peaceful. At my request, Mr Armstrong the undertaker left me alone with him for a little while. I stood over his body and stroked his hair. People say that the dead look like they are sleeping. I don’t agree. He looked hollow, as if the part of him that made him who he was had left his body.
When I was sure we were alone and Mr Armstrong was not watching I removed a small wooden box with a brass lock and put it in the coffin with him.
‘Sleep tight.’ I kissed his icy forehead and left the room.
Mr Harold Armstrong was standing respectfully with his head bowed waiting for me.
‘Thank you,’ I sniffed and pulled my cardigan around my body.
‘It often helps, seeing the deceased one last time.’ He was a serious man and I found it difficult to imagine him ever smili
ng.
‘I put some personal belongings in with him. Please see that they remain with him until the end.’
‘You have my word.’ He nodded. I shook his hand and left. It was the last time I would ever lay eyes on my husband.
At eleven o’clock I heard a beep from the street. Our taxi had arrived. I called up the stairs to Owen and put my best winter coat on. The spring sun was shining outside but I wanted to look smart for Larry.
Owen appeared in his dark school trousers and freshly ironed shirt. He’d even put a bit of gel in his hair.
‘Very smart,’ I told him fixing his tie. ‘Your dad would have been proud.’
Owen swallowed back tears and held my hand. Together we stepped out into the warm sunshine and got into the silver Vauxhall that was waiting for us.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a taxi that would collect us from there. The Asian taxi driver eyed me in the rear view mirror. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone in England knew our address.
‘Crematorium?’ He flicked on the meter, his dark eyes fixing me.
‘Yes.’
The car did a rather awkward three-point turn before setting off towards the cemetery. Owen sat silently staring out of the window. I wanted to hug him but feared I might burst into tears if I did.
Just under fifteen minutes later the car pulled into the driveway. The car park was quiet. We were the only car in it. We’d arrived half an hour before the cremation was due to take place but I thought it would be good to wander around the grounds for a while before going into the chapel.
I paid the driver and we got out of the car. The sun was warm on the top of my head and I felt hot in my coat. The diamanté brooch I was wearing glittered proudly in the sunlight and I adjusted it to make sure it was straight.
‘Come on, let’s go for a wander.’ I took Owen’s hand in mine and led him towards the grounds. Memories of my father’s funeral, which had taken place in the same crematorium, came flooding back. At the time, I thought my father’s funeral was a small tragic affair. But this was going to be something altogether different.
We walked amongst the trees, over a carpet of anemones, looking at the plaques of remembrance.
‘Why do people have to die?’ Owen stopped walking and looked up at me.
‘It’s just the way it is. Nothing lives forever.’
‘Is Dad in heaven?’ His expression was so hopeful.
‘I’m sure he is.’ It wasn’t a good time to question the validity of religion.
‘So I can see him again when I go to heaven?’
‘Yes. But that won’t be for a very long time.’ I didn’t mean it the way it sounded and Owen looked sad. ‘I just mean that you have got a long life ahead of you. But Dad will always be there as long as you remember him.’
Owen nodded and we continued walking.
‘Was Dad a bad man?’ I could tell he was terrified of the answer.
‘Well, some people are going to think that. Some people might even tell you that your dad was bad, but they didn’t know him, did they. It’s not about what they say. It’s about the truth. What do you think? Do you think he was bad?’ I held my breath waiting for the answer. This was the first time we had discussed the situation properly. He was still too young to really understand.
‘I don’t think he was bad.’ Owen frowned.
‘Good. Neither do I. He made some bad decisions, that’s all.’ Not wanting to talk about it any more I looked at my wristwatch and suggested we head back towards the chapel. ‘Uncle Eric will be here soon.’
As we approached the door that led into the chapel a black hearse pulled up outside. The funeral director stepped out and instructed his people to carry the coffin inside.
Owen and I stood sombrely watching as the box was lifted on to the men’s shoulders and taken indoors. Mr Armstrong came back and told us that everything was in place and that they were ready to proceed as soon as I said the word. I explained we were waiting for Eric.
Armstrong nodded and disappeared off. He had been so respectful and humane up until that point but on that day I felt as if something had changed. For some reason he couldn’t look me in the eye. At the time I put it down to the gravity of the situation.
As I watched Armstrong disappear around the corner with the coffin bearers I heard a car pull up and turned to see that Eric had arrived. He parked, got out and came towards us. His attempt at being smart was somewhat laughable. He had a rather grubby, un-ironed blue shirt on, with a pair of black jeans, trainers and a black tie, which he had no doubt borrowed.
‘Morning.’ He said scratching the back of his neck.
‘Hi.’ Owen went over and gave him a nervous hug.
‘So, is this it?’ Eric looked around.
‘This is it.’
‘You didn’t manage to persuade the others, I’m guessing.’
‘No.’ The word was clipped. I was trying to ignore the bitter disappointment I felt towards my two eldest children. ‘Shall we go in?’
I let the way, followed closely by Eric and Owen.
Once inside the celebrant, Mr Peck, a man with thick glasses and a large belly, greeted us. He put his hand out and we shook.
‘I am sorry for your loss.’ He sounded genuine and I couldn’t contain my surprise. ‘Funerals are a difficult business at the best of times. I appreciate this is going to be harder than most. Shall we proceed.’
I nodded and led the way into the empty chapel. The coffin was at the front of the room on the catafalque with only a single bunch of white roses resting on the top. The three of us sat on the front right hand row, all gazing at the wooden box containing Larry’s body. It was so surreal.
The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. And then the music started to play. From the speakers on the wall the song ‘Behind Blue Eyes’ by The Who filled the room. A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard, even though I had requested it and knew it was coming. It had been our song. Larry used to play it and said it made him think of me. I thought that was really romantic.
The committal did not take long. It was a very short service. The celebrant managed to say a few nice words and avoid the pink elephant in the room. Then we watched as the curtains closed around the coffin and I looked down at Owen who was sat sandwiched between Eric and me. His little face was pale and he didn’t take his eyes off the coffin. Even after the velvet curtains shrouded it he just sat still staring. Then Bach’s ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ came pouring out of the speakers and we all remained seated trying to make sense of what had happened. As the orchestral piece came to an end the three of us looked at one another and stood in unison. It was over.
We left the chapel and stepped out into the fresh air. Eric removed a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on, shifting awkwardly on the spot. ‘So, what do we do now?’
‘We go home and try to get on with our lives.’
‘OK. Well, I’m glad I came. If either of you ever need anything you know where I am. I’ll be in touch, yeah?’ he put his arm around my shoulder and kissed the side of my head.
‘Sure. Thanks for coming.’
I watched as he went over to his car and drove away. I felt bitterly alone.
‘Right, kiddo, let’s call a cab.’ I started to remove my mobile phone from my handbag when I noticed a figure waving at me from the car park. DS Small was leaning against his car with his shirt sleeves rolled up, his head tilted towards the warm light. I scowled at him. How dare he. Next to him was a police car with two officers standing beside it. I really didn’t want to talk to him but I could see I had no choice so I approached the man.
‘Owen, go inside and wait for me.’ I pointed to the waiting area at the entrance to the chapel. Owen did as he was told.
‘What the hell do you think you are doing here? You’re not welcome.’ I shouted, as I got closer. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?’
‘Well hello, Mr
s Miller.’ Small flashed a row of white teeth at me. ‘Lovely day.’
‘I could slap you.’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Ah, but that would be assault.’ Small waggled his finger in the air.
‘We’re grieving. This is harassment. I’m going to put in a formal complaint.’ My chest was all puffed up.
Small looked down at his feet and smiled. ‘I think you are going to be spending a lot of time down at the station from now on.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I wanted to wipe that pompous grin off his face. He looked up at the uniformed officers and gave a little nod.
‘Deborah Miller, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence against you.’
I felt the two officers close in around me. My exit was blocked, not that I intended to run.
‘This is a joke.’ I half-laughed.
‘No, madam, this is no joke. New evidence has come to light.’
‘What new evidence?’
‘The box, Mrs Miller. The box you put into your husband’s coffin.’
I felt the colour drain from my face.
‘How did you know?’ All the fight had left me.
‘Let’s just say we received a tip.’
I hung my head and let out a long loud sigh.
‘You didn’t think you’d get away with it?’
‘I did, actually.’ I looked up and eyeballed Small who took a few steps towards me and slowly lifted his hand to point at my brooch. The little diamanté fox with red stone eyes sparkled in the light and appeared to be taunting me.
‘That’s an interesting item.’ He mused fingering the piece of jewellery.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it is. Isn’t it.’
May 2nd 2016
When I was shown into the interview room of the prison, she hadn’t arrived yet. I sat down on one of the two plastic chairs and looked around the stark room. High up in the corner of the room was a CCTV camera pointing down at me. The red light on the side of it glowed brightly.
The Optician’s Wife: a compelling new psychological thriller Page 21