“Bridget asked me to call in,” he says.
Jeanie nods. She doesn’t want to have to talk to this man, wants to get rid of him as soon as possible. Leaving the scythe behind, she walks to the house, keeping him on her left so that he won’t see the grave.
“I’ll be able to get a coffin to you on Friday if I can take the measurements now. It’s my mate Ed who sells them, but I can sort it for you,” he says. “She’s here still, isn’t she?”
“I’m not sure—” Jeanie starts.
“Or tomorrow if that works better.”
“We might use a funeral director after all,” she says. She takes him through the gate into the yard, a couple of chickens clucking and scattering. “Sorry if you’ve had a wasted journey.”
“Is that right?” he says from behind her. “Only, Bridget said you’re having some problems. She said things are a bit tight, what with the funeral and everything.”
Jeanie feels her cheeks flush at the thought that Bridget would discuss their financial situation with anyone, including her husband. Who else is she telling that they can’t afford to bury their mother? The whole village must know. Jeanie presses her thumb to her opposite wrist and pushes down hard. “I don’t know what she meant by that,” she says, not turning. She was planning on taking Stu round the front of the cottage and showing him on his way, but now, affronted and needing to prove that she has no idea what he’s talking about, she goes in through the back door, Stu following and Maude coming along behind.
“She’s in the parlour,” Jeanie says, taking him through the kitchen and past the front door. For a moment she watches him standing beside the covered body, and then she returns to the kitchen. After a few minutes she hears a cough in the doorway.
Jeanie is stabbing at the fire with a stick—they have mislaid the poker—so that she appears busy when Stu comes in and not as though she has been listening and imagining him with his tape measure. She stands upright.
“Ed’s got a nice bit of pine in his workshop,” Stu says, tucking a small notebook and pencil into a back pocket of his shorts. The soft part of his baseball cap is stuffed into the other. He comes to stand beside the range to warm himself.
Jeanie screws up her face, shakes her head, she doesn’t want a coffin.
And as though he thinks she’s shaking her head about the type of wood, he says: “Or I could get you an oak one, if that’d be better. It’ll be a bit more expensive than pine but it has a lovely finish.”
“Oak?” she says.
“Although, of course, there’s some outstanding already.”
“Some of what outstanding?”
“The money your mum borrowed.”
“Mum borrowed some money?” The animal in her chest thumps its shoulders against her ribs. Stu stares at her and is about to speak. “Oh, that,” she says. “Of course.” The pulse is in her throat, her bile rising. She wants to ask if he knows why Dot borrowed it, whether she was going to give it to the Rawsons for the overdue rent.
“I can add the cost of the coffin on to what’s outstanding if you like,” Stu says gently. “You don’t want to be worrying about money at a time like this. Ed says it’s a fine piece of oak.” Stu has always been a salesman. “Well seasoned, it’s not going to warp or split open.” He clears his throat, disconcerted perhaps by the image he’s conjured. “Of course, it’s harder to work than pine, but it’s quality wood.”
Jeanie goes into the scullery and fills a glass with water. She can’t believe that her mother borrowed money from Stu. Dot, who always told them never to accept or borrow anything from anyone, whether it was the government, charity, or neighbours. Getting the cottage rent-free from Rawson didn’t count after what he did. Stu follows her in, crowding her in the narrow room. She can smell the fabric conditioner which Bridget must use for their clothes, floral and artificial.
“How much will the coffin be?” She drinks some water.
“Normally, Ed would charge two hundred and fifty for a handmade coffin, but I know he’ll be happy with two hundred, on account of the fact that your mother was a good woman. A very good and honest woman, Dot Seeder. I can give you some time to have a chat with Julius if it’s your brother who needs to decide. When’s the funeral arranged for?”
“No,” Jeanie says. “I can decide.”
“If anyone sees that oak, they’re going to snap it up. It’s not going to hang around for long.”
“Okay, oak,” Jeanie says firmly. He’s too close, she needs him out of the house. Julius will just have to dig a bigger hole.
“There’ll be a bit extra to take her to the church or the crematorium. Ed and I can put on suits, you know, make it a bit fancy.”
“We won’t be needing that.” Jeanie sets her glass down and Stu raises his eyebrows. “Julius is sorting something out,” she says.
“I didn’t think Julius liked going in vehicles.” He pronounces it vee-hic-culs. “Don’t they make him sick?”
She folds her arms. Stu knows very well that going in anything with an engine makes Julius throw up after fifteen minutes and he damn well knows why too. “I said he’ll sort something out.”
“Okey-dokes,” Stu says, backing out of
