“Can we make an appointment for the funeral celebrant? For a chat about the service content? Is Wednesday afternoon any good?”
“Erm, yes, so long as it’s before I collect my son from school. It’s his birthday, so I’d want it done and dusted well before then.”
“Shall we say 1:30 then? At your home address?”
“Yes. That’s fine.”
“His name is Joseph Alexander. He’s really nice.” She smiles.
“Good. Thanks.”
“Do you want us to set up a newspaper announcement? With the basic details of your husband’s passing, and of the funeral details?”
“Can do.”
“We’ll just put, beloved husband of Fiona, and father of… what’s your son’s name?”
“Jack.”
“Does he have other significant family that need a mention?”
“No. He was an only child and his parents are both dead. You could put son-in-law of Roger and Maggie.” He and Dad were close, after all. I don’t know what he’d make of Mum being given a mention though. Eventually her belittlement of me, and my fear of her, had made him despise her. And look down his nose at me.
“Right. Leave it all with me. I suggest you put an announcement on social media as well, as not everyone looks at the newspaper. And let me know if you would like to arrange a viewing time. You can change your mind up to the day itself.”
She makes him sound like a house. “Is there anything else I need to do?”
“Just have a think about the service. Whether you’d like it religious or spiritual. What songs or readings you’d like, if any? And whether you’d like a photo carousel displaying throughout the service – it’s two pounds fifty per photograph. There’s a minimum of twenty photographs, or you can have a static one displayed throughout for twenty pounds.”
She shakes my hand again. I turn and head along the carpet’s thick-pile towards the exit, appreciating the exchange of the chilly funeral home, for the comparative warmth of the June Monday.
* * *
No news is very good news.
As the days go on,
I can make plans.
Chapter 34
I slide into the driving seat of the Jeep, grateful to be on my own again, with the chance to gather my thoughts. How I should behave right now, I do not know. God knows how others are perceiving me. But I know that I’ve had enough funeral talk for the time being. I pluck my phone from my bag and fire off a text to Sam’s Mum.
Hi Lynne, it’s Jack’s birthday on Wednesday but given the circumstances, I haven’t got around to organising anything. I wondered if Sam would like to come for pizza and a film with Jack. They could have a sleepover if that’s OK with you?” I’m sure Jack will be happy with that. I haven’t got the time or inclination to organise anything else.
Quick as a flash, she replies. He would love that, but I’d rather collect him later, if that’s OK. With it being a school night. You and I could have a glass of wine together. Get to know each other more.
Well, it will be a cup of tea for me. I don’t drink. No doubt that will give her some new gossip to share with her friends.
What would Jack like for his birthday?
His daddy, I type, but then delete it. I’m absolutely all over the place. I’m relieved that there had been no comeback from the visits I made to Bracken Furniture and the garage yesterday, but I still haven’t heard a thing since the interview at the station. Part of me hates the not knowing – I’d rather they put me out of my misery.
He has popped his football, so he’d love a new one.
I think I can manage that! Sam will be very excited when I tell him.
I’ll pick them up from school, then if you could collect Sam at around half seven to eight o’clock, that would be great.
OK. I’ll see you on Wednesday if not before. Can you drop me a text to let me know you have picked Sam up safely?
What does she take me for? Someone who is completely inept? She doesn’t know that they have charged me with aggravated assault. Word will get out soon enough. Nor does she know that I’m under investigation for causing death by dangerous driving, and being an accessory, if that’s the right word, to fraud. I bet she doesn’t know I’m a recovering alcoholic either. If she knew the half of it, she would never let her precious son anywhere near me.
Whilst I’m in an organisational mood, I make a doctor’s appointment for Thursday morning. If I’ve got the Antabuse in my system before Friday, I won’t be tempted to drown my sorrows at the funeral.
I feel numb and empty one minute, and full of rage the next. I know grief is a cyclical process so perhaps, by Friday, I might be in the depths of sorrow, or anger, depending on who turns up. Bryony’s face flashes into my mind. I wonder how that works out with the bail conditions stating that I’m not allowed to contact her, directly or indirectly. I’ve got more right to be at Rob’s funeral than she has.
I expect Denise will turn up too – that’s unless it’s her who gets charged for Rob’s killing. I imagine she will bring Simone, three years older than Jack. She’s too young to attend a funeral but it’s not my decision. With Jack, though, it is.
I point the Jeep in the direction of the town centre. I’ll sort Jack’s birthday gift whilst it’s in my head. If I don’t, it will zip out again and no matter how much he says he’s going to forget about his birthday because he is too sad, he would be devastated if there was no present there for him on Wednesday morning.
He’s been raving on about a new scooter and luckily Argos
