by Fay Keenan
‘Fuck!’ Plunging her hand into the pot, she retrieved the phone as quickly as she could, but one look at the submerged sockets and ports and she knew it was a goner. It was no solace whatsoever that even if the phone wasn’t damaged beyond all repair, she’d still never have picked up a signal. Briefly, she considered calling The Cider Kitchen from the phone box outside the corner shop, or perhaps Jonathan, but she realised she didn’t actually know what his phone number was, having programmed it into her phone. No one knew anyone’s number any more, she thought in frustration. Resigning herself to being out of contact, she cracked on with the painting. At least, she figured, Paul Stone wouldn’t be able to contact her either.
That evening, she settled down on the sofa to try to relax. She’d been hard at work all day on the walls and she finally felt as though she was getting somewhere. Perhaps she’d be able to get back to Little Somerby a bit quicker, after all. Jonathan had told her to stay away until he’d tried to sort out the situation with Stone, but after a few days’ reflection with nothing other than magnolia walls upon which to focus, she was regaining her own sense of perspective. Stone shouldn’t be able to chase her away from her livelihood, she thought; or her new home. The mess was something she really should be able to sort out for herself. Plus, she thought uneasily, the longer she was away from the restaurant, the more likely it was that Stone would come after her. She’d been deliberately cagey about her destination when she’d informed her staff she was taking leave, but Stone wasn’t stupid; he could easily work out where she might be. The thought of being confronted, alone, here, was one that made her feel ill.
Resolving to finish any outstanding jobs in the flat tomorrow and then head home, she decided to take her mind off it all and, after double checking the door to the flat was securely locked, she took her A3 sketch pad from where she’d left it on the sofa. The life drawing classes were still ongoing, but she’d missed this week’s because she’d come away. Perhaps now would be a good time to practice. Anna had asked her a few weeks back if she’d be able to do a special pencil portrait to display and then auction off at the murder mystery evening that was being held at the cider farm at the end of November. She’d lent Caroline a few of the photographs she’d unearthed from one of the tea chests of Carter’s documents, but had given Caroline free rein over which one to draw. Flipping through them, she settled on the one she liked best and thought would work most successfully as a pencil portrait, and put pencil to paper.
45
The day of Jack Carter’s funeral dawned dully. The threat of rain in the air and a brisk north- easterly wind did little to raise the already low spirits of his immediate family. Jonathan had spent the night before tossing and turning in the cottage that held so many memories of his father.
Now, up far too early and feeling restless, dressed in the dark charcoal grey suit and white shirt that he’d selected for the funeral, he was glad of the thick black wool and cashmere coat that went over the top. He’d not eaten much since his father died and he felt chilled to the bone before he even left the cottage. He couldn’t face breakfast, again, and so decided to walk over to Cowslip Barn. There was no point brooding in the cottage; he wanted to be with family.
As he walked the short route from Jack’s cottage to Cowslip Barn, he wondered again why Caroline hadn’t been in touch. He knew Anna had texted her and tried to call her to let her know about Jack, but Anna said she hadn’t had a response to either attempt. Caroline, who was usually pretty communicative with her phone, wouldn’t intentionally be ignoring her own sister-in-law, would she? Even if she hadn’t known what to say, Jonathan thought, he would have expected her to at least text him a quick ‘I’m sorry.’ Feeling disloyal to his father for even thinking about such things on the day of the old man’s funeral, he tried to put Caroline out of his mind. He had the eulogy to deliver and the rest of the day to get through; although he was hoping that once the funeral was over he’d just be able to get blind drunk and blot out the pain for a while. And then, he thought, he’d have to deal with Paul Stone. But for now, it had to be all about Jack.
After meeting the rest of the family at Cowslip Barn, the assembled Carters made their way to the village church for the ceremony. The rain held off, and as they got out of the car that had followed the black hearse, even the wind dropped. Mourners were trickling into the church, and as Jonathan took his place beside the coffin alongside his brother he felt a fleeting dizziness.
‘Are you all right?’ Matthew murmured, seeing the colour draining from Jonathan’s face. The shadows under Matthew’s eyes were as black as his tie, and Jonathan could see the rawness of his own pain reflected in his brother’s eyes.
‘Fine,’ Jonathan replied.
Most of Jack’s contemporaries were too frail to carry his coffin, so Matthew’s good friend, Patrick Flanagan, Jack’s nephew, Robin, who lived in Devon where his mother, Jack’s sister, had retired some years ago, and the two most senior executives besides Jonathan and Matthew, who Jack had appointed many years back, took the duty. Meredith had wanted to be one of the pallbearers, arguing that she had as much a right as any as the only grandchild, but Matthew had persuaded her to stay with Anna and keep Ellie on an even keel. The little girl was present at the funeral, and stared solemn eyed at the assembled mourners, unable to put into words her own feelings about the situation. It wasn’t her first funeral, Jonathan realised with a jolt, remembering Anna’s first husband, Caroline’s brother.
Feeling the weight of the coffin on his shoulders, and with the sudden, sharp realisation that such a once vital, robust man was lying still and lifeless within it, Jonathan lost his footing. His brother’s left arm, entwined with his under the coffin and resting on his shoulder, tightened reassuringly. He couldn’t see Matthew’s face on the other side of the coffin, and he was glad; he had the feeling he’d never keep it together if he did.
Somehow, they made it to the doors of the church and up the aisle. At the top, the funeral directors helped them to place the coffin, head towards the altar. As Jonathan felt the weight of his physical burden lessen, he felt the emotional one increasing. Would he manage to get through the eulogy?
The vicar, who had known Jack for many years, although Jack wasn’t what anyone would call a regular churchgoer, welcomed the mourners. His gentle, kind voice in the face of such sorrow was more welcome than he could imagine, as were the carefully chosen anecdotes that made the congregation smile. But all Jonathan could think about was the speech he was about to give. Would it measure up to his father’s expectations of him?
The service progressed very quickly and before he knew it, it was time for Jonathan to give Jack’s eulogy. Jonathan stood up on shaky legs, his dark coat drifting out behind him as he left the family pew and mounted the steps to the pulpit. Anna, in the front row, had one arm around Ellie. Matthew was next to her, his dark head bowed in thought, and Meredith sat next to him, holding his hand tightly. Behind them, the church was packed with friends, villagers and people from further afield, all of whom had come to pay their respects to his father.
It had taken a lot of soul searching to get to this point. Jonathan had lain awake for hours, trying to decide how best to deliver the most fitting tribute to his father; the best way of saying what, exactly, Jack had meant to him. And it wasn’t just about him personally. Jack had been a figurehead for the whole community and a representative of the business for the country. Sometimes irascible, always generous of time and spirit, Jack had been many, many things.
Jonathan cleared his throat and took a moment longer to look at the assembled congregation. He’d written a page of notes in the small hours of this morning but he knew them so well now, he decided not to use them. He took a deep breath.
‘My father, Jack Carter, was truly one of a kind. He meant many things to all of us. To my brother and me, he was Dad; the one who worked hard, taught us right from wrong, showed us that if we wanted something it was worth striving for, and made me, personally, think
that nothing was impossible or beyond our grasp.’ He looked around at the mourners, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders as he saw the encouragement in their faces.
‘He had a debt of responsibility to the past, but he always had an eye on the future. Although a lot of you saw him as the master of this cider universe, he was, and always will be, so much more than that. Dad was a charming, educated, cultured man who, when my brother wanted to be a lawyer, told him to follow his dreams. The business would always be there, he said, when Matthew was ready to take it on. He always dreamed Matthew and I would run it together, and, last year, I am proud to say that dream was realised.’
Jonathan glanced briefly at his brother, but Matthew’s head was still bowed, so he couldn’t tell how he was reacting. ‘My father was the kind of man who made you feel as though you were the only person in the world when he spoke to you, that you were the only one that mattered. I was lucky to have unconditional support from him; others had to fight harder for that support. But, once earned, it was given without question.’ Jonathan’s voice had strengthened, his self-assurance was trickling back with every word. He would do his father proud now, like never before.
‘My father had his share of ups and downs, professionally and personally, but his charm, wit, perseverance and love saw him through most of them unscathed. He wanted nothing more than to see his family happy, healthy and at peace. After many years, he at last saw us all returned to where we belong, at the heart of a business he loved, and the heart of a family he loved more.’
Drawing another steadying breath, he looked around the church once more and smiled as he saw Miss Pinkham wiping away a discreet tear. ‘My father was one of the most vibrant, loving men I ever had the privilege to know. And I will miss him.’
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly, then turned to where Jack’s coffin lay. He walked up to it, put his left hand on the lid and paused for a moment. When he raised his eyes again to look back out at the congregation, he saw that Matthew had looked up, too, and that his face was wet with tears, like rainwater on granite. Feeling more drained than he had in a long time, he rejoined his family.
After Jonathan’s eulogy, the mourners proceeded to the graveside to see Jack safely into the burial plot that he would now share with his wife Cecily. The bright green artificial grass that lined the surround of the grave seemed incongruously cheerful against the backdrop of heavy Somerset clay soil and looming black clouds, and the congregation huddled deeper into their overcoats as the vicar read the final rites. Jonathan’s head started to spin as Jack’s coffin was lowered slowly into the ground and he steeled himself in an attempt to regain some kind of equilibrium. His jaw ached, and the heat behind his eyes grew unbearable as Meredith dropped a small posy onto the top of the coffin. Stepping forward, he picked up a handful of soil and threw it into the grave, seeing it land beside the flowers.
Before he knew it, he was standing next to his brother outside the church, shaking the hands of the assembled mourners. ‘I’ll see you in a bit,’ he said to Matthew as they said goodbye to the last of the congregation. ‘I want to…’ he swallowed. ‘I need to be here a while longer. I need to talk to him one last time.’
Matthew nodded, unable to speak. Anna stepped in, her timing immaculate as always. ‘Don’t be long,’ she said gently. ‘We’ll get you a drink in.’
Jonathan watched Anna, Matthew and their daughters walk down the sloping path to the church gate, and then, feeling tired and very, very alone, he turned back to the graveyard.
46
‘I wish I knew what to do, Dad.’ Jonathan looked down at the newly dug grave, feeling only a moment’s foolishness for voicing his thoughts out loud. ‘For the first time in my life, I just don’t have a fucking clue.’
The wind was starting to rise and it ruffled the tails of his coat. Jonathan had experienced enough squally autumns in the West Country to know that the damp, slightly warm wind presaged a storm, but at this point, he didn’t care. The grim weather reflected his mood; gave him a backdrop against which the confusing maelstrom of his emotions had something to play.
‘I wish I’d been with you, Dad,’ he said softly. ‘I wish I could have held your hand as you slipped away.’
A lone magpie chattered in the tall yew trees whose branches swayed above his head; a primitive call that seemed to laugh. Jonathan knew he’d been stupid, a fool. Even now, after mending his relationship with Matthew and spending time with Jack, trying to make up for all of those destroyed, wasted years, he still felt monumental guilt that he’d wasted so much time away from home.
‘I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I’m sorry for the pain I put you through over the years. I’m sorry for staying away for so long. I wish I’d learned earlier that I should be more responsible, and I wish, most of all, that we’d talked more when you could actually hear me.’ Jonathan felt the first drops of rain on his face. He was glad; it would disguise the tears that were so achingly close to the surface.
‘A lot of the time you put faith in me, you were wrong to do so,’ Jonathan said softly. ‘Matthew was the one behind the scenes, smoothing things over while I took all the glory. He worked so hard for you, always, Dad, and I think, eventually, you realised that.’ He drew another deep breath, trying to steady himself. ‘That sums up exactly the kind of man he is, Dad, and exactly the kind of man I am. I was never worthy of the faith you put in me.’
‘And now I’ve fucked up again, Dad, and I don’t know what to do.’ Jonathan swallowed hard and pulled his coat tighter around himself. ‘I’ve promised I’ll sort something that I have no idea how to fix. And I promised it because I love her. And she’s an irritable, dogmatic, single minded woman with absolutely no idea.’ He shook his head and laughed hollowly, surprising himself at how closely mirth ran alongside tears. ‘I wish you were here to talk to. I wish I could have asked your advice while you were still around to give it.’ His hands started to tremble, partly from the cold, but mostly from the stress of having to keep control for so long. ‘What am I going to do, Dad?’ He bowed his head, fighting for control over what little emotional strength he had left. Suddenly it all seemed to be closing in on him, like punches raining down in a brawl. He felt exhausted, embattled, and terribly alone. Finally, as the heavens opened and a low rumble of thunder growled over the Mendip Hills, he surrendered to tears.
*
When Jonathan had been a no show at the wake, Matthew’s alarm bells had started to ring. As the elder son, he couldn’t break away from the gathering, continually buttonholed as he was by people wanting to talk about his father, but the awareness that Jonathan hadn’t turned up as the sky darkened and the day drew on was both irritating and worrying.
The wake began to wind down and people gradually drifted away. Matthew bade farewell to his cousin Robin, who was driving his Aunt Clare, Jack’s sister, back to Devon that evening. ‘I’ll pass on your regards to Jonathan,’ he said, shaking Robin’s hand.
‘Do,’ Robin replied. He was slighter than Matthew but roughly the same height. The three boys had enjoyed each other’s company immensely as children and only in later years had they drifted apart. ‘We must catch up again soon. And not just when events like this bring us together.’
‘Agreed,’ Matthew replied. ‘There’s likely to be a christening in the next few months – I’ll send you an invitation.’ His tired eyes softened as they alighted on Anna, who was still chatting to a couple of lingering guests.
‘You’ve done well there,’ Robin observed. ‘You seem very happy. Current events excepted, of course.’
‘I am,’ Matthew smiled. ‘She’s worked wonders for the family. And Dad was very fond of her.’
As the cousins shook hands and said their goodbyes, Matthew’s thoughts turned once again to Jonathan. His brother seemed so vulnerable and so very alone. In all the years of their estrangement, Matthew had always imagined Jonathan to be living a carefree, responsibility free life, but since his return to the village, he’d
observed a depth and seriousness in his brother. He hoped their father’s death wasn’t going to push Jonathan over the edge.
‘I’d better go and see if I can find Jonathan,’ he murmured to Anna as she came back to his side. ‘I’ll just nip over to the cottage and see if he’s back there.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him for missing the wake,’ Anna said, putting a hand on Matthew’s jacket clad arm. ‘He’s still in shock about your dad. He probably couldn’t face it.’
Matthew shook his head. ‘He’s too used to ducking out of things he can’t face,’ he said grimly. ‘He’s spent his life walking away when things get tough. We’re all struggling with… this.’ He blinked furiously, trying not to lose the control he’d fought so hard to maintain all day. Later, behind closed doors, he could give way, but not here, not with eyes still on him. That was the difference between him and Jonathan, he supposed. He still wondered who was the stronger for it. ‘Vern wants the room back anyway,’ he said softly, leaning down and kissing Anna briefly. ‘You get the girls home and I’ll go and check on him. Take the Land Rover if you’re tired.’
‘The walk will do us good,’ Anna said. ‘With a bit of luck it’ll put Ellie out for the count early. It’s been a long day for her.’
Matthew’s brow furrowed. ‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘This must be difficult for both of you, and not just because of Dad.’ He pulled her to him once more. ‘I’m so glad you’re with me.’
Anna looked back up at Matthew and smiled. ‘I always will be,’ she said softly. ‘And I mean it. Go easy on Jonathan.’ She turned back to Ellie and Meredith. ‘Are you two ready to go?’