The photos were now ashes. The Party wanted people to look forwards not back.
‘Please, Mum, use the stick,’ said Mandrake, upon seeing her stumble once more.
He held out the walking stick he’d carried from the house.
‘Fiddley-sticks,’ she said, pushing it aside. ‘Makes me look like an old fool wasting the time of young-uns.’
‘You’ll always be young to me,’ said Jeremiah, and now he was crying too.
‘They have physiotherapy and acupuncture in Scotland,’ said Rebekah, desperately wanting to remember at least one smile from Eliza, but it fell on deaf ears.
‘Let’s take a walk through the village before heading back,’ said Jeremiah. ‘Are you up to it, old girl?’
‘If you’re holding my hand,’ Eliza replied, gazing lovingly into the caring eyes of her husband, always there for her during their beautiful years together.
They were overtaken by a group of bathers rushing towards the river and its purported healing properties.
‘Be careful,’ shouted Eliza after them. ‘There weren’t nearly as many crocs in my day,’ she chuntered.
They strolled down the high street and those with sunhats took them off as they walked by, a mark of respect to the village elders soon to retire.
‘We’d better get back to the sheep,’ said Bastian to May outside the gate of his parents’ house.
He looked at Jeremiah, much smaller these days apart from his ears and the nose that just got longer with every passing year.
‘Then we’ll see you both at June’s funeral tomorrow,’ said Jeremiah before they left arm in arm, reminding him of his own courting days with Eliza.
He turned to Mandrake.
‘I’m going to miss this place when we’ve gone. Look after it for me.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll keep it exactly the same.’
‘I was going to take some things to Scotland in that there bag,’ said Jeremiah of the jaguar skin bag in Mandrake’s hand.
‘But you said I could keep it,’ said Mandrake.
‘Of course, I did.’
Mandrake tried to hide the feelings of joy that his parents were finally leaving and making way. But that’s how he was supposed to feel, though he was a little more enthusiastic than most.
‘You going to keep my tobacco patch?’ asked Jeremiah, looking along the side of the fence.
‘You want me to?’
‘No. Smoking tobacco kills.’
‘Let me make everyone a cup of tea inside,’ said Rebekah.
‘I’ll do it,’ shouted Eliza, and they walked out of the sun with the sheets still flapping in the wind on the washing line.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was an empty milk pail at the front of the church under a tribute wreath of wildflowers donated by Nabulus and delivered by Harriet. They were there to remember June and between the flicker of candles in the chapel, choirboys and girls could be glimpsed in their ruffled collars.
Several women had a newly shaven head following Agrinda’s lead, with the eldest glad to ditch the hair dye, but they were all keen to tan the scalp whilst avoiding sunburn.
‘Our lives often weaved in and out of each other’s,’ said Nabulus speaking from the altar, ‘and recently she crossed my path again. Bon voyage, sweet milk maid.’
He then snuffed out the candle flickering in a tall wooden stand with his thumb and forefinger.
After the waffling of an inebriated Harriet where she constantly referred to ‘service above self,’ Bastian was called to the altar for his own brief remembrance.
‘Although I only knew June for a short time,’ he began, ‘she was the kind of woman that would help anyone.’
Harriet removed her sunglasses to wipe away another tear and some of the congregation nodded.
‘But the good Lord has taken her from us as He often does with those He loves the most. June, if you’re watching this, I wish you were still here to make your ice-cream.’
Bastian stopped to smile and then tried his best to look poignant as he stared into space.
‘I can only say, let’s hope she’s exactly where she deserves to be,’ he finished in a flurry and noticed Nabulus leading the applause from the back of the church.
‘Let’s say hello to Agrinda and Joshua,’ said May, after Malthus wrapped up the proceedings.
She’d forgone her own speech knowing she would get carried away and appear unable to let go of the past.
They found them near the church bar knocking back the marguerites.
‘Is our village what you expected?’ asked May.
‘And more, but please let’s discuss that over dinner,’ replied Agrinda.
‘A restaurant?’ enquired Bastian.
‘Of course not,’ said Joshua. ‘You can try some real African food at our house. Don’t worry, we won’t poison you.’
‘Attention everyone,’ shouted Malthus. ‘The funeral is on the beach in two hours.’
* * *
‘Nice swimming trunks,’ said May to Bastian.
They had returned to her house to change into formal funeral attire, although soon she would have to find new accommodation since the property was family size.
May was in her bathing costume and you could see the large strawberry birthmark on her right thigh. They were both in sandals ready for the beach, the funeral and the after-barbecue.
They left the house with the front door shut but not locked.
Further up the beach enjoying a private day’s rest were the newly qualified carers from the University of Holistic Medicine about to begin their careers in Scotland. They were staying in the village inn before a shopping trip to the closest town. There were ten of them playing volleyball on the golden sand and occasionally they would wave at the curious onlookers. The area was cordoned off with a Ministry of Retirement official patrolling nearby. Nonetheless, a village old-timer couldn’t contain his excitement nor curiosity.
‘Is it true what they say?’ he shouted across the beach, ‘that Scotland is paradise?’
‘Just wait and see but it’s as good it gets,’ one of the carers shouted back.
‘And what you deserve,’ shouted another grinning broadly.
‘I knew it,’ said the old man. ‘Just like Edward’s been telling us.’
‘Don’t go bothering them young folk anymore,’ said his wife. ‘Can’t be easy caring for the likes of us all day and night.’
‘There you
