GILLIAN POUCHER
AFTER the FUNERAL
Published by RedDoor
www.reddoorpublishing.com
© 2019 Gillian Poucher
The right of Gillian Poucher to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover design: Rawshock Design
Typesetting: Westchester Publishing Services
To Neil and Alice with love
– CHAPTER 1 –
Julia stared down at the flowers. Among them lay a bouquet of mixed yellow and russet chrysanthemums which her mother would have hated. She had always said they were flowers for the dead. As of course they were today. Julia bent to look at the tribute card and read: ‘To Emily. Love always. Linda.’
Julia hunched her shoulders inside her black trench coat against the biting January wind. The grief of the last nine days had numbed all other feelings and the sudden spark of curiosity triggered by the card was welcome. Who on earth was Linda? She had never heard her mother mention her.
She turned. The other mourners were standing a little apart from her, giving her space. The respectful murmurs were giving way to a rising volume of chat, sombre tones yielding to short bursts of laughter.
Julia spotted her half-brother, James, standing just outside the crematorium exit, waylaid by some family friends. She took a step in their direction, walking straight into the open arms of Edith, her mother’s neighbour. The scent of camphor rose from the old woman’s outdated double-breasted black fur coat as Julia submitted to the embrace. Unbidden the thought came that the coat must have had many outings: the focus of Edith’s life in recent years had been funerals not only of those she knew well but also of passing acquaintances. The coat should be well-aired. It was the kind of mischievous remark her mother might have made, and Julia felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes even as a smile tugged her lips. ‘Let it out, dear, just let it out,’ the old woman encouraged, further threatening Julia’s already shaky composure.
Over Edith’s knobbly shoulder, Julia spotted someone she didn’t recognise standing to the left of James, scanning the small groups. The woman was in late middle age with curly dyed chestnut hair straggling down the back of her purple coat. She had rouged cheeks and scarlet lips. Heavy use of eyeliner and old-fashioned green eye shadow drew attention to her large eyes which settled on Julia. She began to pick her way carefully over the icy paving stones in her high-heeled knee-length boots.
‘You won’t know me, but I feel I know you,’ the woman began when she reached Julia’s side. ‘I got in touch with your mum through Genes Reunited. I found out I was her second cousin. Both our grandmothers were Thurstons, you see. We chatted on the phone, and I visited a few times. I was going to see her just before Christmas, but didn’t get an answer when I rang. Then I saw the death notice in The Herald so I thought I’d come along today.’ She smiled brightly, as though they had met at a party. ‘My name’s Linda.’
Julia stared at her speechlessly.
‘I know it seems an odd place to meet for the first time,’ the woman babbled on, ‘but I’m sure you’ll appreciate support from your family at a time like this, even if we don’t know one another.’ Her smile faded as Julia continued to gaze at her blankly. ‘But with your mum telling me so much about you, I feel I know you already. She didn’t mention me to you?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, forcing another smile. ‘Of course she wouldn’t have, why would she? But I’m so pleased to meet you, even under these sad circumstances.’
She placed a bony hand on Julia’s arm and the younger woman resisted the temptation to shake it off. Each fingernail was painted a different colour: red, purple, green, orange, black.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I know you’ll have so many people to speak to,’ Linda continued, ‘but I just wanted to introduce myself before you go to the reception. I won’t go on there, as I don’t know anyone. Well, except you now! I’m so pleased we’ve met. I’ll be in touch soon, when things have settled down. Bye.’
‘Who was that?’ asked James, having detached himself from the family friends, and looking towards Linda as she tottered away.
‘Mother’s second cousin apparently. She sent the chrysants.’ Julia pointed at the despised flowers. Her hand was shaking. ‘She’s called Linda. I’ve never heard of her. Have you?’
‘No. You OK?’
‘I think so. Just a bit much, the funeral and then this woman turning up. She said she found Mother through Genes Reunited.’
‘Probably just lonely. Greg didn’t show then, did he?’
She shook her head. Suddenly the tears spilled down her cheeks.
‘Hey. It’ll be OK.’ James enveloped her in a brief hug.
‘I just thought, whatever else has happened, today he would…’ Julia swallowed and composed herself.
‘I know, I know. And speaking of unwanted relations, here’s Aunt Ada. Dying for years, but always manages to get herself wheeled out for a family funeral. Literally.’
‘James!’ In spite of everything, a bubble of laughter escaped Julia as she bent forward to take the hand Aunt Ada extended regally from her wheelchair.
‘Always said Emily wasn’t strong,’ said the old woman. ‘Still, I didn’t expect to outlive her. I’m nearly four years older, you know.’
‘Yes,’ said Julia. ‘I know.’
‘Heart failure in the end, wasn’t it? Not that she bothered to tell me. Hadn’t heard from her for a while apart from her Christmas card.’
Julia bit her lip, but James couldn’t resist. ‘Had you tried to get in contact with Mother recently yourself, Aunt Ada?’
Ada flicked her heavy-lidded grey eyes towards him. ‘I sent her a Christmas card myself.’ She shifted her shrunken frame in the wheelchair, wincing. Julia grimaced in sympathy. ‘I’ve not clapped eyes on either of you two since your party the summer before last.’ She nodded in her niece’s direction and licked her lips. Taking in the gesture, the hooded eyes and the wrinkled skin, Julia reflected that Aunt Ada looked more lizard-like than ever. She braced herself for the barb she knew would follow as a corner of the old woman’s thin mouth rose in a sneer. ‘For your engagement, wasn’t it? Though I gather we shouldn’t be expecting a wedding now, should we?’
James stepped in quickly as his blonde petite wife, Clare, arrived at his side. ‘Things don’t always work out, do they, Aunt Ada? At least Julia hadn’t actually got married before Greg left her for someone else.’
Clare broke in as Ada took one sharp intake of breath, then another. ‘James, I think it’s time we headed off to The Wingate, don’t you? We’re due at two.’ Turning to Julia, she went on, ‘Don’t let her get to you, Jules. No wonder her husband left her all those years ago! Come on.’ She placed a gloved hand on Julia’s arm and steered her towards the car park.
Julia didn’t know how she got through the reception. By turns it consisted of feigning interest in the progress of children she had never met, and fending off enquiries about Greg from distant relations who recalled his name from Christmas cards. In the frequent lulls in conversation with
her relatives, she overheard snatches of discussion among her mother’s friends. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, exchanging news of medical complaints, hospital appointments and funerals of their contemporaries. She deliberately avoided catching James’s eye, knowing there was a risk that she might descend into hysteria on a day of such heightened emotion, even as tears threatened whenever she thought how much her mother would have taken quiet enjoyment from seeing all her family and friends together.
But it was difficult not to smile when Edith expressed her approval of the buffet. ‘Very nice, very nice indeed. I always say The Wingate does the best buffet in town. Although I must say The Bird and Feathers has improved. I was there last month for Elsie Baxter. Or was it Doreen Platt?’
Aunt Ada, however, wasn’t so impressed, complaining that sausage rolls would have been preferable to vegetable samosas. ‘You know what you’re getting with a sausage roll. That’s what you want, not this fancy food. Careful, girl! That’s my bad foot you nearly knocked against the table!’ The young Jewish carer from the residential home muttered an apology. She swerved the wheelchair round so quickly that the other foot was millimetres from colliding with the table leg, leading to further protests from the old woman.
As the last of the light faded from the grey January sky, Julia was relieved when James and Clare offered to see off the final guests so that she could return home. But as she parked her Mondeo on the street outside the two-bedroomed cottage which had been her home for six years, she wished she had stayed on at the hotel to the end.
Ignoring the chill which pervaded the car as soon as she switched off the engine, she contemplated the outline of the quaint cottage against the night sky. She had fallen in love with it on her first viewing and hadn’t been put off by an adverse survey report. Soon after completing the purchase she had met Greg and he had moved in a year later. She still hadn’t got used to coming home to an empty house since he had left five months ago. A familiar shroud of despair settled on her. This time she gave way to her tears, leaning her head against the steering-wheel, her slim body shaking.
She was roused by the faint sound of the phone ringing inside the cottage. Perhaps it was Greg after all, ringing to ask how the funeral had gone. By the time she had unlocked the front door and flicked the hall light on, the answerphone had clicked in. Whoever it was didn’t leave a message. The flashing red light indicated there had been four previous calls. Julia pressed the button to retrieve any messages, but was greeted by silence followed by the buzz of a terminated call each time. No doubt whoever it was would call back.
She went through to the kitchen and listlessly ran water into the kettle. It was coming up to boil when the phone rang again. She took a steadying breath as she went out to the hall and picked up.
‘Hello?’
There was a pause before a young-sounding female voice said, ‘Hello. Is that – is that Julia Butler?’
‘Yes. Julia Butler speaking.’
‘Julia Butler, the counsellor?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Oh.’
There was an interval before Julia spoke again, guessing from experience that the woman was a potential client. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just I called earlier, and there was no reply, so I didn’t expect you to answer. Sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Julia gently. She took another breath, switching into professional gear. ‘I know how difficult it can be to make that first phone call.’
‘You do? Yes. Yes, it is.’
There was another silence before the woman spoke again. ‘My name is Grace, Grace Hutton. My father died recently and, well, I’ve been struggling. Not that we were particularly close. My GP suggested counselling might help. So I wondered, if it might be possible – I’ve never been for counselling before – do you offer one-off appointments, just so I could see…?’
Grace swallowed, and Julia sensed the effort it had taken for her to make contact.
‘Yes, I do offer an initial appointment. That would give both of us the opportunity to see if we feel we could work together. I wonder if you think that might help, Grace? May I call you Grace?’
‘Yes, of course. That would be good, an initial appointment. Thank you.’
Julia turned to her diary which she kept alongside the phone on the walnut bookcase. She had given herself a few more days off for compassionate leave. Her supervisor, Louise, had encouraged her to take more time when Julia rang to postpone her monthly appointment after her mother’s death. But Julia felt that work would help her to cope with her present difficulties. She had always found it relatively easy to detach from her clients’ issues. There was another consideration too: her financial situation meant she could ill afford to take extended leave. Not that Louise would view that as a reason to return to work if she wasn’t fit.
Julia arranged a first meeting with Grace for the following Wednesday morning. After giving directions to her counselling office, she rang off and returned to the kitchen. She disliked the metallic taste of re-boiled water so she emptied the kettle and re-filled it, opting for fresh green leaves over tea bags. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could justify the luxury of the expensive Chinese tea, but she found the ritual of preparing the brew soothing. And if ever she needed soothing, Julia thought, kicking off her black court shoes and going into the sitting room: it was tonight.
She set a match to the log fire she had laid that morning and settled into her favourite brown leather armchair. She was watching the leaves of the tea unfurl into their flower in the glass teapot when the phone rang again. Thinking it might be Grace calling back, Julia stiffened when she heard the breathless voice at the other end.
‘Hello. I hope I’m not disturbing you, Julia. It’s Linda again. I just wanted to know how everything went at the reception. I thought I’d ring to let you know I was thinking about you.’
Julia searched for the words to end the call quickly without being rude. She wanted to ask, ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ But it was hardly tactful, and she was always tactful.
‘Julia?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult day. The reception went as well as could be expected, thank you.’
‘I am glad! These events can be so distressing. And I know you don’t have much family, apart from your brother, and what with your partner leaving so recently, with what a terrible time you’ve been having, I rang to tell you you’re not on your own. You aren’t without support, Julia, that’s what I wanted to say.’
Linda’s knowledge of her split from Greg shocked Julia. Clearly she and her mother had grown close. How strange that her mother had never mentioned Linda. Perhaps she’d felt that the news of the new family member was insignificant as she provided a listening ear to her daughter struggling after her break up. It was soon after that Emily’s heart failure had been diagnosed. She had begun to look increasingly frail and tired during the autumn. Christmas had been overshadowed with the unspoken thought that it would be her last.
Now Julia closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Why on earth would this woman think she would look to her for support? ‘Thank you, Linda. It’s kind of you, but…’
‘Not at all. Family is so important at times like this…’
But I didn’t know you existed before today! thought Julia.
‘… and so I wondered whether, to take your mind off things, you might like to join me next Wednesday when my exhibition opens in town? It would mean so much to me to have you there.’
‘I’m not sure…’ Julia stalled, but her curiosity was piqued. ‘Your exhibition?’
‘Yes. Just a few paintings. That’s what I do. I’m an artist, not very well-known; you won’t have heard of me. It would be so lovely if you could be there. I’ve never had family at an exhibition before.’
Julia hesitated a moment. She wasn’t sure whether it was the easiest way of ending the conversation or whether her sympathetic nature responded
to the longing in the other woman’s voice, but she found herself accepting the invitation. She had promised herself that she would fill her leisure time as much as possible, fearful that if she spent too much time alone she would sink into despair. And whilst she wasn’t drawn to Linda, in fact rather the opposite, she had never received a personal invitation from an artist to an exhibition before.
‘Yes, I should be able to make that.’
‘Oh, how wonderful! It’s at seven o’clock at the gallery on Steep Hill. I could meet you before, if you like, or…?’
‘It might be a bit of a rush,’ Julia responded quickly. ‘What with work, and everything. I’ll see you there. Seven on Wednesday. Bye for now.’
‘Bye. Take care, Julia, and if you need a chat any time…’
‘Thanks. I really must go now, Linda. Bye.’ Julia hung up before returning to the sitting room and her cold green tea. She stood before the fire, looking at the sepia photograph on the mantelpiece of her mother as a young woman. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Linda, Mum?’ she asked. ‘Who is she?’ She jumped when a log shifted and cracked in a sudden burst of flames in the fireplace, and went across to flick on the TV. She never watched soap operas, but this evening she was grateful to immerse herself in the problems of fictional characters and escape her own.
***
An hour later, Julia started in her chair. From a distance she could hear someone calling. Then she realised it was her own voice, but the words were indistinct; mere sounds between gasping breaths.
She shivered as she surfaced into consciousness. The sitting room was cold, the fire burned to ashes. Fire. She had been trying to save someone from a fire. She sensed it would be better if she didn’t recover the dream, if she pushed it away into the recesses of her mind, but the images and sounds crowded in. Her familiar sitting room seemed to be full of unwelcome and sinister visitors.
On the internal screen of her mind, more vivid than the burbling TV, Julia saw a woman framed at the upstairs window of an unfamiliar stone house. Flames leaped behind her. Somewhere a baby was screaming. Julia knew with the certainty that comes with dreams that the woman was the baby’s mother. But the woman didn’t move from the window. She stared out at the night from the burning house. There was a terrible vacancy in her expression. She seemed oblivious to the mortal danger threatening her and her child. Julia was shouting to her, trying to rouse her, to urge her to save herself and the baby.
After the Funeral Page 1
