As she dashed into the reception area of the Freeman Hospital, she caught sight of Claudia and Paul loitering anxiously at the coffee vending machine and blessed them with all her aching heart. At last, she allowed her tears to flow freely, the self-restraint required for the drive broke as they took turns drawing her into their arms and fetching cups of appalling sludge labelled coffee for her whilst they waited for Doctor Patel to arrive.
“The hospital contacted us, too. Had our home number,” Claudia explained. “We wanted to be here with you. How you managed that drive, Becky, I’ll never know.” She added, “The kids are fine. My sister’s staying over with them.”
As time crawled by, darkness pressed against the hospital windows. The muted TV monitor flashed disjointed pictures as they waited, cloaked in sadness. Doctor Patel eventually arrived, directing them into a cold, sterile side room lit by the ubiquitous neon strip lights. Rebecca shuddered. If these walls could talk, what a horrific story they would tell. She doubted anything happy ever happened in this room.
She sat, sandwiched between Claudia and Paul, nodding numbly, agreeing, thanking, understanding, but nothing penetrated her pain. Paul grasped her clammy hand, assuming the lead until the doctor excused himself to resume his treatment of the living.
“I wasn’t there for him, Claudie.” Rebecca wept. “I so wanted to be with him at the end, not for him to die alone! The call came in the Motorway Services car park in Wetherby. I should have been at his bedside or at home with you, instead of haring back to my life in London. I’m a hateful daughter.” Her body convulsed with heaving sobs.
“Becky, wherever you were you couldn’t have changed what happened. George was very ill, you know that. He wasn’t aware of where he was or who sat in vigil at his bedside. He’s at peace now, darling. He’s with Marianne, whom he missed every single day—more so toward the end. He reminisced endlessly to me and Daisy about your mum. Stop berating yourself. It serves no purpose.”
Claudia stroked Rebecca’s hair, the rhythmic motion bringing calm to her ragged senses. “Come on. Nothing more we can do here. Let’s get you home. There’re phone calls to make,” Paul said.
“Oh, gosh yes, I’ve got to call Bradley. I think he may be in Paris. And Lucinda. I don’t think I have the strength to face it all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Bradley, it’s Rebecca.” Her voice quivered with grief, but her stomach churned at having to interrupt his weekend jaunt. She could predict his immediate reaction to her call.
“Rebecca? Me and Cheryl are in Paris. Can this wait?”
“No, Bradley, it can’t wait. I’m ringing to let you know that Dad passed away last night. He suffered a stroke last Friday and never regained consciousness. The funeral is on Monday. Will you come up to Newcastle? Claudia and Paul have offered you a bed. I’ll stay at the cottage.”
“I’m sorry to hear about George, Rebecca. I really am. He was a decent father-in-law. But we don’t get back from Paris until tomorrow evening. I haven’t told you, but I’ve got an interview next Tuesday for a position with an international law firm in Dubai! It’s a fantastic opportunity, Rebecca. I can’t mess this up. I need to cram up before the interview. I don’t want to be exhausted from a grueling trip up to Northumberland the day before.”
“Bradley, my father has died. Are you telling me you’re not attending his funeral? Not coming to pay your respects?” Bradley had a knack for astonishing her, but this was beyond belief.
“Rebecca, I can’t miss this life-changing opportunity. Got to chase the cash. The interview is Tuesday and then the four best candidates are being flown out to Dubai—first class of course—for the final selection process and to meet the directors. Even if I don’t get the job, it’ll be a free jaunt for me and Cheryl.”
She was astounded. How could she have been married to this guy? Had he always been such a heartless human being? Yes, she concluded, he had no redeeming features she could recall.
“Well, the funeral is at two p.m. at Matfen Church, then on to the crem and back to Claudia and Paul’s for a drink. Max would love to see you. He’s lost his granddad, don’t give him cause to think he’s lost his father, too.”
She slowly dropped the receiver into its cradle.
* * *
“Hello, Lucinda. It’s Rebecca.”
“Oh, yes, Rebecca. Where are you? I note you’re not at your desk. I was expecting you back this morning. I take a dim view of your continued absence after I generously allowed you two extra days leave. I must raise the Exquisite Forest case with you. Because you were unable to make the appointment on Monday, it seems we have lost Mrs Russell’s business. She refused to allow me to conduct the purchase—”
“Could I interrupt for a moment, Lucinda?”
A distinct sharp intake of breath could be heard down the line, but she didn’t possess the courage for another confrontation. “My father passed away last night. I was on my way back to London when I received the telephone call from the hospital. I’ve returned to organise the funeral arrangements. It’s scheduled for next Monday. I will be back in the office on the following Wednesday.” She had never dared being so assertive with Lucinda before, but her bravery had the desired effect.
“Please, accept my sympathies, Rebecca. I understand how difficult it is. I hope the funeral is cathartic. I will inform John Baringer of your loss. We will expect you back at your desk the following Monday, ninth of September.”
“Thanks, Lucinda.” Tears rolled down her cheeks at the other woman’s brusque and totally unexpected kindness. Lucinda has obviously lost someone close to her.
* * *
“Hi, Deb, it’s Becky. Before Lucinda announces the news to everyone, I wanted to tell you my dad passed away last night. The funeral’s on Monday. I’ve got lots to sort out up here, won’t be back until the Monday after. Claudia and Paul are here supporting me.”
“Oh, Becky, I’m so sorry. Poor you, how are you holding up? Can I help with anything? Me and Fergus will drive up to Northumberland at the weekend to be with you.”
“Thanks, Deb, but there’s no need to come to Northumberland. Don’t know what Lucinda would say if half the office staff were absent!”
“Blast Lucinda!” And then she burst into noisy tears.
Rebecca had never heard Deb swear before. She was touched by her distress. “Deb, will you tell Nathan and Georgina for me? I can’t bear to make any more calls.”
“Course I will.” She sniffed. “Sorry for the tears. Don’t worry about a thing this end. Me and Nathan, and probably Georgina, will keep on top of your workload so you don’t have piles of work to come back to. Got nothing else to do any way!”
Rebecca wondered what she meant. Then she remembered Nathan’s court hearing at the Family Proceedings court had been the previous day. “I feel guilty about letting Nathan down. How did the hearing go?”
A comical trumpet noise rattled down the phone line, followed by a ragged inhale of breath, causing Rebecca to smile for the first time in the last week. Deb could lift even the darkest of moods.
“He went, Becky. Emma attended, too—no lawyers. Neither of them can afford it. The court ordered welfare reports to be prepared, but they succeeded in having a civilised discussion in front of a mediator and he’s hopeful of an agreement. But the summer holidays are nearly over, so Millie will be back at school on Monday. A trip up to Edinburgh isn’t looking likely. There’s something going on with Nathan, but he won’t budge under even the toughest of cross-examination.
“Oh, and Lucinda’s been invited to her sister’s wedding in Palma next weekend, so she won’t be in the office—a week of blessed relief!”
“Okay, Deb, thanks.”
“We’re all thinking of you, Becky. I’m so sorry.” And, as she depressed the call button, she burst into tears again.
Nathan scooted his chair over to Deb’s desk and patted her hand awkwardly. Deb rarely gave into tears. “Come on, Deb. You’ll sort this out. It’s not t
he end of the world, you know.”
“I know, I know. And that was Becky on the phone. Her father passed away last night. She’s devastated. Funeral’s on Monday. She’s not back until the Monday after. Lucinda gave her another week off. That’s amazingly out of character, but it’ll be because she’s gallivanting off to that gorgeous wedding in Palma, the jammy cow! Oh, Nathan, what are we going to do?” Her ample bosom heaved.
“Put it into perspective, I’d say, Deb. Poor Becky, look what she has to organise now—her beloved father’s funeral. In only five days. Maybe I’ll be forced to do something similar in the next couple months. You only get a week to organise everything.”
Deb wailed.
“What I mean is, you’ve got a joyous celebration to organise and you’ve still got eight weeks! I know you’ve been planning the dream fairy tale wedding at Radley Hall for the last century and what has happened is horrendous, but it’s not the end of the world. It doesn’t mean you can’t marry Fergus—which is the intended conclusion anyway—just that you can’t have the expensive, over-elaborate reception at Radley Hall. Let’s think out of the box!”
Shocked at the positivity from Nathan, Deb dried her tears and stared at him. “Who are you? And what have you done with my friend, Nathan Derek Atkins? You’re the deliverer of doom and gloom. Not the provider of positive alternative solutions!”
“What I mean is,” said Nathan, ignoring her jibe, “St Aiden’s Church has a church hall. Go and visit the Reverend Briggs, explain what happened, and hire the village hall. I know, I know, not in the same league as Radley Hall. No stunning photos in the rambling grounds. No gourmet food served in minute morsels of delight. No long-legged beauties offering cool, sparkling Bolly, but I won’t hold that against you!
“What I’m saying is don’t cancel the wedding. You’ve still got Fergus, you’ve still got the church, you’ve still got the fabulous honeymoon Fergus has promised to arrange. Me, Becky, and loads of others will rally ’round—smarten up St Aiden’s church hall with whatever theme you want. Becky could probably do with something to keep herself busy, take her mind off losing her dad. It might work.”
This was the most optimistic speech Deb had ever heard Nathan make. She allowed her distressed mind to meander through his proposal. It was an option. She was still devastated that a kitchen blaze at Radley Hall had discarded her long-awaited fairy tale wedding with a bonfire, sending her dreams up in flames, but everything Nathan had said was true. She still had Fergus, she still had eight weeks, and she had an army of family and friends who would rally around to salvage the party of the decade.
“You are an absolute star, Nathan Atkins. I love you!” She flung her chubby arms around him—his head at the perfect height to bury his nose into the crease of her breasts—just as Lucinda appeared at the office door to deliver the sad announcement about Rebecca’s father.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Funeral day, Monday, second of September—her father’s seventy-fourth birthday. Rebecca hoped he was celebrating over a glass of Dom Perignon’s best vintage with Marianne.
The promised Indian summer had materialised. The warm, sunny morning and the four drops of herbal Rescue Remedy, forced on her by Claudia, were producing a welcome blanket of calmness. Seventy-four was not old in the grand scheme of things, but it wasn’t youthful either. George had enjoyed a fulfilled life—a strong, loyal, and loving marriage to Marianne, and a grandson whom he adored. She wouldn’t count herself in the list of George’s successes yet. She had failed her father on a number of levels, but not on the love and affection scale. She had adored him and her mum.
Rebecca had agonised over whether Max should be allowed to attend the funeral, but led by Claudia, she accepted it would be too distressing to witness the exit of his beloved granddad in a coffin. A promised trip to the cinema was more appropriate to a four year old’s wellbeing.
Claudia’s sister, Alison, had leapt at the chance to indulge in child-friendly activities on the last day of their summer holidays. School resumed tomorrow for Rowan and Harry, and even Daisy was excited about starting playgroup. School would start on Wednesday for Max. Rebecca was grateful for the extra days Lucinda had surprisingly offered. She could drop him at the school gates, be around to settle him in for his first few days, and meet him again at the end of the day, a rare treat. It had been a high price to pay for the privilege though.
She surveyed the tiny Victorian church. Her mum and dad had been married there, she had been christened there, and Marianne had hoped one day to attend her only daughter’s wedding within its quaint stone walls. Bradley had refused, of course. Said holding their wedding there would be hypocritical, as neither of them attended church in London. Rebecca would have adored to have kept up the family tradition and been married at Holy Trinity, with its bells ringing in the tower proclaiming their happiness, flowers arranged by the village ladies, walking in a winding procession to the church from her childhood home. The photographs would have been so pretty.
But, of course, Bradley’s views had prevailed and they were married at Chelsea Register Office in a non-descript, impersonal room with no windows, on a rainy Thursday in June, photographs snapped on the ugly stone steps outside. They then immediately departed for Heathrow and their honeymoon in New York, when she would have preferred a reception for friends and family, and a sun-drenched tropical beach with swinging, hammocks, and palms trees.
She clenched her shoulders, straightening her spine in preparation for the onslaught of pain as the organ music increased its volume, signaling the arrival of her dad’s coffin at the heavy arched door of the church. Claudia and Paul grasped Rebecca’s cold, clammy hands as the congregation stood to await his arrival.
The somber congregation swelled the little church to its limit. George had been a keen member of the local Rotary Club and a regular at the village pub, The Black Bull, his familiar pipe clenched between his teeth—his dummy, her mum used to call it. Even some of her mum’s old friends attended, offering their condolences and paying their respects. He had been well-loved and for that Rebecca was grateful.
Realisation dawned. George was forever drumming this into Rebecca’s stubborn psyche—how important a stable family and a supportive community were for Max.
She turned slightly as the coffin was lowered in front of her. She was shocked but touched to meet Josh’s eyes. He and his father stood erect, green tweed caps in hand at the back of the church, proof the village grapevine was alive and well. She received a sympathetic nod and smile, which she tried to return but she suspected hers was more akin to a grimace.
She spotted Jean Peters from St Oswald’s Lodge, who had been very kind, helping her to sort through her father’s few personal items. She’d sent a welcome arrangement of baby-blue hydrangea from the care home garden, which, she’d reported proudly, the residents had selected and arranged themselves for George.
How Rebecca endured the service, she had no idea. When she tried to dredge the details from her memory later, she drew a blank. She had, however, been reliably informed by those friends of her mum, who held great stock in a well-delivered funeral homily, that it had been moving, personal, and Reverend Andrews had excelled himself, being well acquainted with George’s life achievements.
Claudia and Paul provided an essential prop for Rebecca in the church. She felt isolated, despite the packed congregation and the outpouring of compassion for her loss. In the back of the shiny, black limousine on the way to the crematorium, they buttressed her flagging spirits, assuaged her fear that she might collapse as she uttered her final farewell to her beloved dad and the red velvet curtains drew around his coffin.
They flanked her like sentries at the crematorium’s oak door, Claudia grasping her elbow as she thanked everyone for their kindness and attendance at the worst kind of celebration—that of a life lost.
Shaking each proffered hand, she accepted their sympathetic utterings with a tight smile, knowing she would never have cause to see these
people again and for some reason that saddened her deeply. These mourners had been an integral part of George and Marianne’s life, their extended, caring community—something Rebecca would never experience in Hammersmith, unless she counted Brian, and she’d rather not.
A titanic silver tureen of homemade pea and ham soup—George’s favourite and a local delicacy—and a mountain of sandwiches provided by Claudia’s mother, Margaret, was the awaiting, comforting sight in Claudia’s chaotic kitchen. The French doors, arms peeled back, welcomed guests into the warm, sunny garden as Claudia’s loving home started to spin its magic on Rebecca’s flattened spirits.
Her mood lifted further under the onslaught of the exuberance of the children returning from their expedition to the cinema. The sandwich mountain was scaled and reduced to crumbs.
Max glued himself to Rebecca’s side, refusing to let her out of his sight. Rebecca knew he feared her disappearance from his life like his granddad, like his father. With constant and loving reassurance over the days since her father’s passing, she’d calmed his anxiety, but with so much trauma to deal with over the last few weeks, it wasn’t surprising he was distressed.
It had been painful to watch the relief spread across his freckled face of not having to return to Tumble Teds and see Stanley, his mortal enemy, ever again. But starting school held fresh fear and trepidation of the unknown.
If only Bradley had had the decency to simply take Max out for the day, away from witnessing the trauma of those adults closest to him. Max had queried why his dad hadn’t come to visit when granddad was ill or to the funeral, but she suspected the answers she had uttered had not satisfied him. She wanted to wrap him in her arms, to insulate him from this continued pain and confusion.
Last night, for the first time in weeks, she had extracted her Little Green Book from its resting place at the bottom of her satchel, craving its guidance and straightforward advice. She hadn’t expected miracles, but turning its emerald face over in her hand the book felt like a familiar, comforting friend as she commenced the nightly battle with the sleep-deprivation demon.
The Wish List Addiction Page 14