‘Oh my, my.’ Father Joyce reached out and rested his hand on Isabel’s upper arm. From anyone else she’d only just met she would have inched away from the gesture finding it intrusive, but from this man with his kindly button like eyes, it was comforting. ‘To witness the passing of a person in the circumstances such as you did must be terribly traumatic. But how very wonderful you were there Isabel for Ginny, to ease her passing.’
Isabel bit her bottom lip; she hadn’t thought about it like that. She hoped her being there had helped in some small way.
‘She’ll be greatly missed you know. She was a force of nature our Ginny. You’d never have believed she was over ninety. I don’t think she believed she was over ninety!’ He gave a little snort. ‘She was always happy to bake for the new mum’s in the church or to pop a meal around if she heard someone was poorly. She kept herself busy too by volunteering in our local St Vincent de Paul second–hand shop here in Timaru.’
‘She sounds like she was a wonderful person, and your eulogy was lovely by the way.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘Ah. Now you see what I didn’t say was Ginny was a woman who in later years, did not suffer fools gladly, and whose tongue could be me more acerbic than a sharp lemon vinaigrette at times. But you don’t say those sorts of things now do you. None of us is perfect, and she was no exception, but she was also incredibly generous of spirit with a heart as wide as the Clutha River, where I hail from.’
Isabel smiled. ‘She was human then.’
‘She was human, and we all have our foibles.’
‘You said you met twenty years ago when you spoke about your friendship with her during the service.’
‘Oh yes it was when she bought a cake, carrot cake it was with proper cream cheese icing, to the manse not long after I took over the parish after Father Samuel retired. She’d clashed once or twice with him, something to do with the flower arrangements I think. I never did get the full story, but she was hoping to get off on a better foot with myself. Father Samuel didn’t have a sweet tooth like myself.’ He patted his girth resplendent over the purple belt. ‘Carrot cake with cream cheese icing is the fastest way to my heart.’ His laugh was low and rumbly like an engine starting, and Isabel couldn’t help but smile.
‘We two sat together and put the world to rights over a cup of tea and many a generous slice of her cake over the years. I know she missed her son, Teddy dreadfully I’m afraid; he was her only child which made it worse. I know she would have liked more, but it wasn’t meant to be. I used to tell her, “Your children are only on loan, Ginny, they’re not yours to keep.” He spoke very well today, Teddy I mean, don’t you think?’ He cast his gaze around the room as though seeking him out.
‘Yes, he did. I liked the story he told about the height of his mum’s pavlovas and how she lost the title of being a ten-pound pom.’
‘Having earned the respect of the local farmers’ wives by winning the Biggest Pavlova competition at the annual country fete,’ Father Joyce finished for her chuckling at the tale before snaffling his slice of banana cake.
Teddy’s hair, Isabel had noticed as he spoke, still whispered of the ginger, sandy colour of his youth, despite his years. The only clue to his age was in the wrinkles fanning out around his hazel eyes when he smiled and the way his hair had receded ever so slightly. There was a greying too around his temples. He was a tall man but lean and obviously kept himself in shape. There was a gentleness to his features, and he looked, she decided her inventory not quite done, like a nice man.
His suit even to Isabel’s untrained eye was obviously tailor-made. It was clear by his confident manner that he was used to public speaking and he’d peppered his eulogy about his mother in a way that had managed to be humorous and eloquent at the same time. Isabel had been rather taken aback at the sight of his wife, as he sat back down though. She’d leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, a glamorous vision who was at least half his age. A young girl sat by her side.
She’d passed by them as the congregation trailed from the church into the hall and the family of three stood at the entrance of the hall shaking hands, accepting condolences and thanking people for coming. She hadn’t the heart to say who she was and how she’d encountered Ginny and so she’d simply said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ to which she’d received a sad smile and nod.
‘I’ll miss Ginny’s pavlova almost as much as her carrot cake, and I think it’s always a good thing to laugh at a funeral. A person’s life should be celebrated.’ Father Joyce said finishing his sarnie. ‘Yes really, rather good,’ he mumbled despite his mouthful.
Isabel was unsure if he meant laughing at a funeral, or if was referring to the sandwich once more. She saw his eyes flit in the direction of the trestle tables where the plates
