Heather hadn’t known what to say to that, so in the end she had just taken the handbag, rose hips and all, and emptied the thing out into the bushes outside the mortuary. Were they important? She had no idea. That was the problem that was becoming more and more obvious: she knew barely anything about Colleen Evans and everything she’d found out since her death suggested she never would.
“Colleen loved her family, and she was a very giving woman. Very generous with her time …”
So generous, thought Heather, the misery inside her suddenly flaring into anger. Generous to a bloody fault, really.
With a start she saw all the heads in her pew turn to her, and she realized she had spoken out loud. Turning scarlet, she bowed her head, but it was like a dam had opened up; unwanted images and thoughts tumbled through her mind, pressing in on all sides. Sitting in this same chapel as a teenager, numb with pain and guilt; the look of fear that had passed over her dad’s face when he’d found the bird in her bedroom; her mother stepping over the edge of the cliff, perhaps regretting it at the last moment and feeling terrified on the long drop down, before her head was smashed and her bones turned to powder … She thought of Michael Reave and his infuriatingly steady voice, of all the women whose lives he had cut short.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet. The vicar’s words dried up in her throat, and they all looked at her expectantly. Someone just behind her coughed.
“Hev!” Nikki’s voice was an urgent whisper. “It’s all right, sit down. Please.”
It was impossible. Impossible to stay here a moment longer, just yards away from the box containing the broken pieces of her mother. She shook her head, and shuffled down the pew, gently brushing off the hands of Mrs. Appiah and her sister.
“Please, carry on,” she said, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. “Carry on, I just need some air.”
She left through the side door, stepping out into the small remembrance garden beyond. A long section of it was paved over, with small areas filled with white gravel and small succulent plants, and on a low wall someone had thoughtfully arranged all the floral tributes. She spotted her own immediately, a wreath of white and yellow lilies, and she made herself go and look at it, staring at the long smooth petals until her heart had stopped pounding in her chest.
For all I know, she might have hated this. Heather took a long, slow breath. Perhaps she would have hated all these flowers. Christ, maybe I should have brought rose hips.
She waited, and eventually she heard the thin and wavering sound of a small group of people singing “Morning Has Broken,” the hymn she had chosen to end the service. Shortly afterward, the crematorium doors opened and the vicar began ushering people out.
“Hev, are you all right?” Nikki came straight over to her, while her mother and auntie hovered anxiously behind. The small handful of mourners were moving out into the garden, pausing to thank the vicar as they did, but Heather couldn’t help noticing that they were all taking little peeks at her.
“Sorry,” she lifted her eyes to Mrs. Appiah and her sister so the apology took them in, too. “I just couldn’t face it. I kept remembering dad’s funeral, and the shock of everything …”
“It’s understandable, honey,” Mrs. Appiah waved her explanations away. “Your mother’s at peace now, time for you to try and get some, too. Now, look at these beautiful flowers everyone sent. Colleen would have been very touched, I’m sure.”
Heather nodded and obediently went back to the flowers, deciding that she would read each card and thank all the mourners personally. After all, they didn’t know about her fraught relationship with her mother, and they had taken the time to come—it was the least she could do when she’d already caused such a spectacle. As she was bending to read the card on a posy of pale yellow flowers—the florist’s handwriting was atrocious—Lillian appeared next to her, gloved hands folded around the handle of her handbag.
“A lovely service, just what Colleen would have wanted.” Heather turned at the sound of her voice—was that a note of sarcasm? But Lillian looked as composed as ever. “Are you having a wake, dear?”
“At the King’s Arms. I’ve rented the back room. I should have done it at the house I suppose, but …” She stopped. In truth there was no good reason. She just couldn’t bear the idea of other people there, seeing where the dust had built up and peering into the fridge.
“No need to explain, I quite understand. It takes some of the pressure off, I imagine.”
“And we’ve made some food.” This was Nikki’s aunt, who had appeared at Heather’s elbow. “Sandwiches, cold cuts, sausage rolls. Plenty enough for everyone and more besides. I’ll put some in a pot for you to take back, Heather.”
Save me from the old women and their Tupperware, thought Heather, before noticing that Nikki’s aunt was peering with curiosity at Lillian.
“Oh sorry. Shanice, this is Lillian. I guess you must know each other? Lillian is also, uh, was also a neighbor of Mum’s.”
“I don’t think we’ve met,” said Auntie Shanice, holding out one plump hand. “Whereabouts are you on the road, Lillian?”
“Up toward the school,” said Lillian, before turning to Heather again. “Forgive me dear, but I must go—it really was a lovely service. I’ll pop by later and bring you some of the butternut stew I’m making.”
And with that she was gone. Shanice raised an
