Trick of the Light

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘Oh. I …’

  ‘No, no, that’s not your cue to apologise. You’ll soon see why being on-site or very close by is important. But what I was going to say is that the unruly nature of this job means naps become very important. I pop in here for a lie down if necessary. Obviously not in a casket – that would be creepy. But here on the lounge. It’s most comfortable. So always give a quick knock before entering. And when we get into the throes of things, I expect you to catch a nap too when you can. There are no points to be gained from grinding yourself into the ground. This can be a very gruelling job – physically, mentally and emotionally. So, find your best way to cope. And if you’re struggling, please let me know. Few people are in a position to understand what we go through. So, discussing it, debriefing, is an important aspect to our partnership, too. Well, it is for me. That’s what I’ve missed since losing Mary. I’m sure you feel that yourself with losing your husband, though probably in a slightly different sense.’

  Erica nodded so she didn’t let slip her real thoughts – that far from debriefing with him, Stuart would have been in for a thorough grilling! Though when she pushed her anger and frustration far enough out of the way, she realised she had really missed having him to bat job-hunting ideas around with, for one. There were so many little things she missed that couldn’t really be explained to anyone, even if she could be bothered.

  She hadn’t joined any of the cancer support groups on offer because until Mackenzie and Issy had left for their trip, she’d had them. They were going through it together. And of course she had wonderfully supportive friends, but, while they’d be polite, it was unlikely they’d want to listen to too much discussion about grieving random strangers and funeral arrangements, not to mention she’d need to maintain confidentiality and be respectful of her clients. And if she was going to be working crazy hours, then it would be essential to talk to Walter. Thank goodness she liked him so much right off the bat. He was a good egg, as both her parents would have said, most likely in unison. She reluctantly pushed thoughts of them aside too and returned her attention to Walter before he noticed she was distracted.

  ‘Grief makes the smallest things leave the biggest holes,’ she said, surprising herself at having spoken her thought aloud.

  ‘Yes, that’s what sneaks up on you – the less obvious absences. The big ones you’re all too aware of and can tell yourself you’re ready for, but not those. And so many of the little things fall into the “you had to be there” category – and thus they’re too hard or simply too tiring to explain to anyone who hasn’t been through something vaguely similar,’ Walter said quietly beside her.

  Erica nodded again as a montage of images flickered through her mind: Stuart holding up the nail polish bottle offering to paint her nails, them sitting pulling out the Christmas decorations, them sharing an exaggerated eye-roll to imitate Mackenzie, reading out articles from the paper or online to each other … The list went on and one day she hoped the memories would be fond and not also tinged with pain and sadness. Walter’s voice beside her brought her back.

  ‘Those sneaky little buggers get in there and poke and prod,’ he said, moving his index finger around in the air as if to illustrate his point. She sensed he was trying to be light-hearted, but there was an obvious heaviness to his words. And then he said, ‘Just like a jar of gherkins, I reckon.’

  ‘Sorry? A what?’ Erica frowned.

  ‘A jar of gherkins. You know how you see the one you want and then have to chase the little sucker around in the liquid trying to pierce it with the fork, and it keeps sliding off and then finally you get it and drag it half out only to have it snag on the lip of the jar and fall back in?’

  Erica laughed. ‘Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re absolutely right.’

  ‘I’ve clearly thought about it far too much. I love gherkins. I’ve taken to talking to them and calling them Mary. I say, “Now come on, Mary, stop that!” It helps. Quite mad, I know. But whatever it takes to get you through, I say.’

  Erica nodded. ‘Yes, exactly.’

  Oh how she yearned to reach over and pull Walter to her and hold on to him for longer than the three seconds some scientist had found made up the standard hug.

  She wondered who he’d had to lean on, because she wouldn’t mind betting plenty of people would assume that being so familiar with grief he’d be immune to what many experienced. For she felt his words were reaching out to her. Did he have a lot of friends or a close one or two on which he could lean emotionally? Or was everyone a little at arm’s length because out here they might all be clients and a certain professional boundary needed to remain? Suddenly she had the overwhelming urge to say, ‘I’m here now, Walter.’ But there seemed no way of conveying what she wanted to without it sounding weird or inappropriate. She hoped he felt their connection as clearly as she did. And saying, ‘I’ll be your friend,’ sounded utterly ridiculous – so juvenile.

  ‘The hardest part for me is when the deceased is young, because I know the ripples will work their way through not just the entire family but the wider community too. That’s probably the most difficult thing about doing this job and being part of a small town and district – the ripple effect. Out here very few are unaffected. Those are the times we must summon an Oscar-winning performance to keep it together – and not just on the day. Oh god, sorry, here I am giving a sermon. I don’t mean to, I …’

  ‘Please, go on,’ she said in almost a whisper, thinking he might need to say this as much as she needed to hear it, and that it had nothing to do with her learning the ropes.

  ‘Well, okay, I was just going to say, if you do shed a tear, it’s not the worst thing in the world. We’re human and showing our vulnerability can be one of the most healing things for those suffering. But above all, our prime objective is to provide the best experience for the deceased’s loved ones to take into the future. We want people to go away thinking Wasn’t it a lovely send-off and not Oh god, can you believe the coffin wouldn’t go into the hole, or worse, Can you believe they got his name wrong. Thankfully I haven’t made a blunder like that, but things do go wrong sometimes. Of course they do. But if we can keep the errors to a minimum and behind the scenes, then all is well.’

  ‘I completely understand.’ It was on the tip of Erica’s tongue to tell him that being a makeup artist meant details were her speciality, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt him, especially with a sales pitch on herself.

  ‘And here’s where it can get a little murky, because while we want to appear to have a well-oiled machine in operation, we also somehow need our clients to feel a certain level of individuality. We can’t come across as being too robotic.’

  Erica nodded as she ran through what she could immediately recall of Stuart’s funeral. His service did indeed meet the brief Walter was referring to of being efficient and professional while also definitely about Stuart specifically, thanks to incorporating some of his favourite quotes and music and steering well clear of anything even vaguely religious.

  ‘A lot of what we do is standard, but we need to ensure it still comes across as tailored and personal. Goodness, enough of the lecturing. And look at the time. Your poor head must be spinning and your stomach growling. Come on, let’s go and get some lunch,’ he said, getting up. Erica followed suit.

  ‘Hopefully the locals gawking won’t put you off,’ he said brightly as they made their way down the hall to the front door, which Walter reached out and opened in front of her.

  ‘Sorry?’ Erica said, pausing to wait while he locked the door.

  ‘I’ll be appearing in public in a social setting with a much younger woman who is good looking – hopefully that is not a sexist comment or otherwise inappropriate – and who isn’t my late wife. If you’re as perceptive about human nature as I suspect you might be then the curiosity, scrutiny and even potential disapproval will be abundantly clear. So please pay them no mind. Probably the sc
rutiny of being in a small town and under the watchful eye of all will be the most difficult aspect of being here. Okay. Shall we do this?’ he said, standing on the kerb and looking both ways up the wide but empty street.

  Erica laughed. ‘You make it sound like I’m entering a lion’s cage.’ ‘I was going to say nest of snapping vipers, but that works. Just kidding,’ he said with a wink, and offered his bent arm, which Erica took with a smile. But her chest became tight at remembering the last time a much older man had offered his arm like this to her – her darling father at her dear mother’s funeral six years earlier.

  They entered the café across the road and Erica was glad she’d been forewarned. The two staff members behind the counter and the waitress holding plates beside a table of diners and then five tables of diners at varying stages of their meals all paused their actions and their conversations and looked at them for a few moments before carrying on with what they’d been doing. It was just like in a western movie when the gunslinger walked through the flapping doors and the place fell silent while they sized him up. The problem here, Erica presumed, was that she wasn’t so far away in age from Walter that she couldn’t be considered his new flame, as he’d predicted. And like moths to a flame locals approached their table in twos or on their own and hovered until he introduced Erica and they all shook hands. Erica noticed he didn’t add anything to indicate she was his new employee, though surely they were expecting him to hire someone. No doubt he was toying with the locals. There probably weren’t many opportunities for him to wield his sense of humour in his profession, she figured. And the glint in his eye – so similar to her father’s – told her he liked a practical joke as much as, if not more than, the next person. She wondered what he got up to and looked forward to seeing more of this side of him.

  Erica gave up almost immediately trying to commit the names and faces to memory and instead focussed on enjoying her excellent meal of mushroom and chicken risotto.

  ***

  When they got back to the office, Walter unlocked the door, but instead of going inside, he said, ‘You head in and get settled in the flat. I have to go out and see a widow whose husband’s service I did last week. I like to do follow-up welfare calls when time permits. I’ll ease you in, and I think start you at the beginning of the process. Enjoy the rest while you can. How about nine o’clock in the morning for a start?’

  ‘Sounds perfect. If you’re sure you don’t want me to do anything now? I’m happy to jump right in.’

  ‘It’s fine. I suggest you take a look around the town and the office and get your bearings some more without me yabbering in your ear, but it’s entirely up to you. Perhaps unpack and see how you feel then. You can see where the supermarket is and everything if you fancy cooking. Otherwise there’s a casserole in the fridge for you and all the essentials I could think of. I thought you might need to tuck yourself away after the drive and overwhelm of everything. If you need me you have my number. I don’t live far away, but I also won’t be bothering you without reason. It’s your home and your time off is yours to spend as you wish. Like me, you might learn how carefully you need to guard it. And Erica?’

  ‘Yes?’ She turned back towards him.

  ‘Thank you again for being here and giving this, and me, a shot.’

  ‘And thank you for giving me a chance. It means so much.’ Again she had to resist the urge to hug him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Erica checked all the cupboards in the kitchen and then the fridge for anything she might need from the supermarket before it closed and found Walter seemed to have it all covered. But she still needed a walk.

  Having changed into track pants, T-shirt and runners, she folded up her printed map of the town and pushed it into her pocket, grabbed the keys from the bench and her phone from her gorgeous handmade leather handbag – a gift from her girls, all the way from Italy – and headed out, taking care to lock each door behind her as she went.

  She made her way around to the main street, marvelling as she did at the fact that Walter had forgotten nothing. And then that she was in need of nothing. She had a job; her house back home had been secured, thanks to the girls; they still loved their father; and her dad would have regular visitors. She might be far from home, but this was the perfect substitute. She yearned to be able to say to Stuart, ‘See, this is the décor I imagined for our house.’ For possibly the first time, the thought of him didn’t bring any sadness. Nostalgia, but not sadness. And no anger. She was okay. Moving on, turning the corner to where her grief was still a weight, a reminder of what she’d been through and that she was different as a result, but no longer a crushing burden. Though that was right now; who knew how she’d be in a few hours or days? One foot in front of the other, she reminded herself.

  Looking up the street, she was surprised at how long the shadows were. It was also cooler than she’d anticipated. She’d save her wander through the few shops and investigation of the walking trail at the end of the street for the next day. She strode down the street, smiling and returning all the utterances of ‘hello’ to everyone she encountered along the way. Every single person coming out of shops and getting into their cars had spoken to her or acknowledged her in a friendly manner. A few people further away must have thought they knew her because they’d waved. The first couple of times she looked around wondering if there was someone behind her – no, there wasn’t – before shrugging to herself and raising her hand to wave back. Oh well, when in Rome! What harm was an extra wave to a stranger? And maybe she wasn’t really a stranger; if it was true how quickly word spread in small towns then all these people probably already knew her name and what she was doing there. Walter’s business was part of the fabric of the place and she was part of it now too. Thinking that put an extra spring in her step.

  At the end of the street, rather than crossing over and going back the other side, she turned and took a side street. A couple walking a dog across the way called out and waved. Erica’s thoughts went to Daphne – darling, special Daphne – and she idly wondered if Walter would let her have her own dog in the flat. Though from what he’d said, the hours of the job probably wouldn’t be conducive. Dogs didn’t like being left alone for too long, did they? Oh well, she’d just have to make a point of meeting the dogs being walked by townsfolk and get her fix that way. She chuckled to herself at being forty-nine and only now craving pet interaction for the first time. Renee would say you were never too late to change anything about yourself. Erica could see she might be right about that too.

  Back inside, she looked around the flat. She was glad she hadn’t brought Stuart’s urn – or a portion of his ashes – with her. She hadn’t been able to tell Mackenzie and Issy why she didn’t want to because she hadn’t known herself, and leaving him in his house, while also a good excuse, had felt right. Now she could say why – because he’d held her back long enough. No, that wasn’t fair. She’d let him hold her back for long enough. She didn’t need him watching over her now.

  She and the girls had discussed dividing Stuart’s ashes up and her bringing part of him with her. She’d been glad when Mackenzie had turned her nose up and then Issy had agreed it was a little icky. And anyway, it wouldn’t be the same. They’d said she could take his urn of ashes with her, but she’d read the reluctance, the stoicism in the gesture. They needed him with them. She’d rather not have him with her. And thankfully she’d been spared having to admit to that and trying to explain why. It was a win-win-win.

  She suddenly remembered her phone and as she pulled it out realised it was probably the longest she’d spent not looking at it in nearly a decade. But what a full-on day. She was exhausted. She replied to the texts from Mackenzie, Issy, Steph, Michelle and Renee that all was good, that the accommodation was divine, but she was tired and suffering a bit from information overload.

  She put the phone back, grateful they were all content with text messaging and for there being no need to talk to anyone right now.

  Sh
e stood, spoon in hand ready to stir, watching the microwave turn, heating her casserole – which wasn’t actually a casserole at all but a very lovely smelling beef stroganoff complete with rice – and wondered why she was so content, despite so much having happened in a short space of time. Maybe Renee was right about everything working out okay in the end.

  As she sat with her steaming plate and dug her fork into the stroganoff, she paused to consciously feel gratitude for the opportunity and even more so that she was there and had absolutely no qualms about her new job, Walter or being away from home. Anyway, while it wasn’t a short enough distance for commuting, returning on the occasional weekend was very doable when she could afford the petrol. And, of course, she hoped everyone would come and visit soon. Though that might depend on how the job went and when people died. Instead of feeling constrained by the unpredictable nature of her role, Erica liked the idea of the lack of routine surrounding the routine of the process of burial. She could see it might be exhausting having nights where her sleep was interrupted. But also she could see the purpose, the service nature of the job seeing her through that. And she’d got through raising two daughters, after which her sleep had never fully returned to what it had been before. She was usually able to drop back off to sleep after being disturbed or getting up to go to the loo or get a glass of water. It was only recently that that had changed.

  Is there anything you’re not good at, Walter? she thought, savouring the first mouthful of beef stroganoff. It was so creamy and comforting that it might have been her last ever meal or a meal to break a diet. Amazing. And the fact she hadn’t had to make it meant it hit even more of the right spots. She smiled and felt a surge of affection stretch out of her for her new boss.