straight and narrow if I need a moment to myself.”
“Where’s the property?”
“You will never guess. Margaret has decided to vacate the London house for now and live permanently in Grantchester—you remember, where they had Simon’s party?”
“Of course.”
“We discussed the lease when she telephoned with details of the service tomorrow. And speaking of the service, it’s not quite what we may have expected.”
“What do you mean?” Maisie rubbed her hand across condensation forming on the kiosk’s windowpanes and peered out to see if there were passersby.
“Hold your breath, Maisie.” Priscilla paused. Maisie drew away from the window and looked up into the small mirror behind the telephone. “Simon’s being cremated.”
“Cremated?” She saw her eyes redden in the rust-spotted mirror.
“Yes. Margaret is being terribly modern—and it’s not as if cremation has been seen as quite the devil’s work ever since the Duchess of Connaught was cremated in 1917—first member of the royal family into the fire.”
“Oh, Priscilla, how could you?”
Priscilla drew breath but did not apologize. “Maisie, do try to be less sensitive. I know this is a terribly difficult time, but one has to keep some perspective. The Simon I knew would have been first to laugh at such a quip.” She sighed. “Margaret thought—rightly, I have to say—that it’s what Simon would have wanted, having lingered for so long. She said there can be a proper goodbye before his ashes are sprinkled across the fields close to his home where he played as a boy, and she won’t have to fret about who might look after his grave when she’s gone.”
“But—”
“No, you can’t, Maisie. You can’t commit to grave visiting, I won’t allow it. When he’s laid to rest—or whatever they call it when you’re cremated—it will be a rest for those close to him as well. I agree with her wholeheartedly that it represents a release, a letting-go for all concerned.”
Maisie said nothing.
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”
“I’m here, Pris. And I think she’s right too, though it came as rather a shock at first.”
“Yes, of course it did. Now then, I am going to lounge in a deep bath this evening, seeing as Elinor has the boys back under her thumb once more and all is well in my world. My darling Douglas will be here soon, along with my motor car, and my cup will runneth over.”
Maisie nodded, though there was no one to see her. “Good night, Priscilla. See you at half-past nine tomorrow.”
“Sleep tight, dear Maisie. And don’t fret, it will soon be over.”
Maisie walked slowly back, glad to return to the flat that she now saw as a cocoon. She thought about what Billy had said, about throwing on the clod of dirt, of releasing something of the memory into the earth. What did one release with a cremation? Where was the ritual, the ending of the story, when there was no grave to visit, no place to set down a posy of primroses or an armful of fresh daffodils? She sat for a while, and though the evening was not cold, she placed a florin in the gas meter and ignited the fire. She felt chilled to the bone, yet when she considered Margaret Lynch’s decision, she could not help but feel it was a good one, and wondered if she had settled upon it, in part for her sake.
MAISIE STOOD TALL when the final hymn was announced, feeling the numbness in her feet, which had been cold since she went to bed last night. It was no ordinary cold but a deep seeping dampness that could not easily be countered by exterior warmth. It was bitter and clammy and, in truth, it had been with her since France, since the war, and there were days when she thought it would freeze up through her body and turn it to stone.
Margaret Lynch stood between Maisie and Priscilla, and as they opened their hymnbooks to the correct page, she felt Simon’s mother lean against her. Maisie closed her eyes for a moment and rooted her feet to the ground, so that Margaret might share her strength, and then, though it might be considered presumptuous, she linked her arm through the older woman’s to offer greater support. Margaret Lynch patted Maisie’s hand and nodded, and as air gushed from the organ’s bellows, the introduction began and voices rose up in unison.
As the second verse began, the coffin was moved back through a divided curtain toward the incinerator. When the curtain closed again, Simon was gone from them forever. Maisie felt his mother increase the pressure on her hand, and she in turn drew her closer.
Later, following an early luncheon at the Lynch house in Holland Park, Maisie and Priscilla waited until the other guests had departed before taking their leave.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright, Margaret?”
“Yes, of course, Priscilla. I am in need of rest, so I will go to my room and put my feet up.” She reached out toward Maisie and Priscilla. “I am so glad you were both here.”
Priscilla kissed the air next to Margaret’s left cheek, while Maisie stepped back. Then, just as Maisie was about to hold out her hand to bid the bereaved woman goodbye, Margaret took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.
“Please come to visit me, Maisie. I shall be here in Holland Park for a week or two while my belongings are packed up and sent to Grantchester. So, please come.”
“Of course. I would be delighted.”
