After the Funeral

by Gillian Poucher

‘What? Sorry. You never swear, do you?’

  ‘Not that. I’m not keen on “Jules,”’ she said. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound precious about it. It’s only family or really close friends…’ She bit back the rest of her sentence as he raised a blonde eyebrow. She hadn’t noticed how bright his blue eyes were before.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And working alongside one another five years doesn’t qualify for “close friends”?’ He was looking at her with a strange intensity.

  Julia tucked a section of her brunette bob behind her right ear and dropped her gaze. ‘Sorry. Just me.’ She turned away and opened the drawer where she kept the corkscrew.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Julia.’ She winced at his ironic emphasis. But when she glanced round at him, the metal corkscrew cold against her palm, he was smiling again. Then he spoke more seriously. ‘Sounds like Greg turned out to be more than a bit of a bastard.’

  ‘He’s not, not really,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Isn’t he? He lied to you about this other woman, he’s left you with mortgage arrears. Can you pay them back?’

  ‘No.’ Julia bent her head over the bottle of wine, tears welling up again. She began to press the corkscrew into the cork and then withdrew it when she saw she hadn’t centred it. ‘Damn,’ she muttered.

  Pete crossed the kitchen. He was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. She stiffened. Then he reached round her to take the corkscrew. His hand brushed against the small dome of her breast. She stepped back quickly.

  ‘Let me do that,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sit down? You’ve had a hell of a day. And instead of cooking, why don’t we order takeaway? You’re close enough to the Man Yuen for them to deliver, even in this weather.’ He withdrew the cork with a gentle pop.

  ‘Yes, but I… OK. My treat, though.’ She sank wearily into one of the two dining chairs at the table by the window, leafing through the pile of newspapers, magazines, charity bags and takeaway menus which had accumulated over recent weeks. She saw Pete glance at them as he set a glass of red wine down in front of her.

  ‘It’s not what I expected, your house,’ he said, settling into the opposite seat.

  ‘Oh?’ She savoured the spicy aroma of the wine before taking a sip.

  ‘No. I imagined you in some minimalist apartment, or at least a modern town house.’

  ‘Did you? Why?’

  His smile emphasised the lines at the corner of his mouth. ‘You’ve always struck me as ultra-efficient,’ he said. ‘Very organised. And this…’ he waved his hand at the jumble which lay between them.

  ‘I am usually more organised,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s just since Mother…’

  His smile vanished. He looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said immediately. ‘That was tactless.’

  There was an awkward pause. Then he reached across and touched her arm. She looked at his hand resting on her black sweater, noticing how long and slender his fingers were with their short square clean nails, how sensitive. He would need a sensitive touch, she supposed, as a reflexologist. Not that she knew very much about reflexology.

  ‘You know, I’ve never had a massage,’ she said, glancing across at him.

  ‘Haven’t you?’ His voice sounded softer to her, as soft as the falling snow. He moved his hand down her arm and gently began to massage the inside of her wrist. She closed her eyes, relaxing for the first time in what felt like months. When she opened them and looked at him, he was watching her intently. She withdrew her arm abruptly.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She forced a smile. ‘We seem to keep apologising, don’t we? But it’s been a long day. I’m not sure this is a good idea. And even if you hadn’t made plans with your… friend tonight, I don’t think she’d be too happy to know you’re here offering your services free of charge.’

  ‘ “Offering my services free of charge?”’ Pete repeated, both eyebrows rising this time. ‘Now there’s a thought.’

  The colour rushed to Julia’s cheeks. ‘Not that. You know what I mean.’

  ‘Do I?’ A smile played about his lips, making her wonder if she had imagined the intensity of his gaze before. She pushed away the thought of how much she had enjoyed the touch of his hand on her wrist.

  ‘Pete! Look, I am sorry, but I think I’m better on my own now. And as I say, your friend…’

  ‘I can take a hint.’ He rose. ‘And just so you know, you’ve got the wrong idea about my friend.’

  ‘Oh?’ She followed him into the hall, surprised how disappointed she was that he was going. ‘It’s none of my business, of course,’ she added as he laced up his boots, ‘but if ever you wanted to tell me about her…’

  He looked at her for a long moment, then retrieved his beanie from the table. She opened the door. The snow had finally stopped and lay in drifts around the small garden. The patio planters and shrubs were shrouded in white. A taxi swished slowly along the road.

  Pete stepped over the threshold and turned, gently planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘Maybe one day I will,’ he said.

  –  CHAPTER 9  –

  Julia slept fitfully again that night, troubled by dreams which faded away when she emerged into semi-consciousness. Half-awake, she pushed the fragmented images back into the recesses of her mind. When she woke fully, her body bathed in the familiar perspiration, her bedside clock showed 4.10 a.m. She sighed and pushed back the duvet, padding barefoot to the sash window. Raising it above her head, she leaned out and gulped in the icy air.

  White shapes loomed below her. She knew they were only bushes and plant pots covered in snow, but still she shivered, unable to shake off the sinister atmosphere from her dreams. She jumped when the cathedral clock struck the quarter. She usually found the chime comforting, but tonight the bell sounded a warning to her troubled mind.

  Teeth chattering, Julia closed the window. She knew from the broken nights which had plagued her since her mother’s death that sleep would be elusive. She decided to make some green tea and take a look at Emily’s diaries. She’d left them when Pete went, too drained by the unsettling visit to the cottage and the accident on the way home.

  Pete. Her hand on the landing light switch, Julia recalled the pleasurable sensation of his hand circling her wrist. With the clarity of the insomniac she acknowledged her attraction to him. Warmth flooded her. How ridiculous! They’d worked alongside one another all these years without her being remotely interested. He was just Pete, for goodness’ sake! Plus he’d told her he was involved, although the relationship sounded complicated. And there was no reason to suspect he was interested in her. Telling herself that her reaction had been due to her shaken state after the skid and the disturbing afternoon at her mother’s, Julia went down to the kitchen.

  She ran water into the kettle. Outside a car churned up ice as it came down the street, the engine dying as she flicked the kettle on. She heard the car door slam, the faint beep of the central locking. The squeak of someone opening her wrought iron gate. For a wild moment, her hand poised above the canister where she kept the green tea, she imagined it was Greg. Greg suddenly overcome with regret about their separation, impulsively coming round in the middle of the night to seek a reconciliation… Whoever it was wasn’t making any effort to approach the house quietly along the frozen path. Footsteps crunched towards the front door, reassuring her that this was no stealthy would-be intruder. Heart pounding, she peeked under the side of the olive roller blind, hoping against hope to see Greg’s bulky figure.

  Her pulse slowed when she recognised the slight physique of her half-brother as he reached the doorstep. Then it began to race again. What had brought James here at this time of night? She crossed the kitchen, bumping her thigh against the walnut bookcase in the hall in her haste.

  ‘James! What’s wrong? Is Clare OK? What’s happened? You look terrible. Come in – you’ll catch your death. Where’s your coat? But you shouldn’t have been driving, aren’t you over the limit?’ The questions tumbled out as she
took in James’s dishevelled appearance and bloodshot eyes, smelled the stale beer on his breath. He stumbled into the hallway and she put out a steadying hand.

  ‘Jules. Sorry about the time. Nowhere else to go. She’s thrown me out.’ James rubbed a hand over his right cheek, scratchy with stubble.

  ‘Thrown you out! Wouldn’t she even let you stay till morning? That doesn’t sound like Clare.’ But even as she thought it was out of character for her placid sister-in-law to send James packing on the coldest night of the winter, she recalled how she had surprised herself pushing Greg out into the garden the previous morning. She caught her breath, wondering what could have sparked Clare’s fury.

  ‘Long story.’ James wound his way into the kitchen. He slumped into the wicker chair which Pete had occupied earlier. ‘Any chance of a coffee? The stronger the better.’

  ‘Of course.’ The kettle had come up to boil. Julia spooned coffee into the cafetière for the two of them, deciding against her green tea. She set the cafetière and mugs on the table, taking a seat across from her half-brother. He held his head in his hands, his fingers interlocked, massaging his forehead.

  The silence stretched between them, broken only by the ticking of the walnut grandmother clock in the hall. Like the desk at Emily’s cottage, it had belonged to Julia’s grandfather. Her mind turned to the diaries again. She could have looked at them whilst she drank her tea. She experienced a moment’s resentment at James’s intrusion, then chided herself for selfishness as she contemplated his hunched figure.

  Finally, as Julia plunged the coffee, James raised his head. He gave a crooked half-smile. ‘Long time since I came round to see you because of trouble with one of my women, isn’t it?’

  Julia didn’t return the smile. ‘I didn’t think Clare was just “one of your women,”’ she said. ‘Not when you married her.’ She poured coffee into a mug and placed it on a rattan coaster in front of him.

  James shrugged. ‘Always the older sister, aren’t you?’

  She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know.’ James took more quick sips of the coffee, his eyes darting around the untidy kitchen. ‘Making judgements.’

  Julia drew in her breath. ‘Making judgements? All I was saying was that I thought Clare was different from your other girlfriends.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He shrugged again. ‘So you brought that stuff from Mum’s, did you?’ He waved his hand at the carrier bags of correspondence and diaries which cluttered the table between them.

  ‘Yes.’ Julia pushed back the disturbing memories of William Prescott and the snowy afternoon forty years earlier, determined her half-brother shouldn’t change the subject. She remembered the phone call with Clare, forgotten in the emotional turmoil of the day. ‘I spoke to Clare before I went over,’ she said. ‘She told me you weren’t able to come to the cottage. Some crisis with a student.’ She paused, recalling her sister-in-law’s unusual reticence. ‘Actually she was pretty brusque.’

  James took a gulp from his mug, then set it down on the table. ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah?’

  ‘So Clare wasn’t fooled then.’

  ‘Not fooled about what?’

  James ran his hand through his floppy blonde fringe, a habit he had developed as a small boy when caught out in mischief. ‘Not fooled by me saying a student had a crisis. Of course, if the stupid woman hadn’t rung home, then… Not that I planned on it going on any longer anyway.’

  ‘On what going on any longer? And what do you mean, if the stupid woman hadn’t rung home?’

  He didn’t reply, swirling the coffee around his mug. Julia’s eyes widened. ‘James, you’re not…?’

  He looked back at her, his jaw set, holding her gaze. ‘’Fraid so. Fling with a student. Nothing serious.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘The irony is I finished it this afternoon. Too late though. Clare suspected and challenged me as soon as I got in. At least I admitted it. Thought that would go in my favour.’

  ‘Go in your favour?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, that was part of the problem with you and Greg, wasn’t it? He lied about the other woman, didn’t he?’

  Julia didn’t trust herself to speak. James pushed at his fringe again, glanced away. ‘Of course I know it doesn’t make it right,’ he muttered. His thick lips formed the sulky pout Julia remembered from childhood. ‘I thought it might help though. Since it was over.’

  ‘But James, what were you thinking? Why chance your marriage for some fling with a student? What about the IVF and everything?’

  ‘Oh, the IVF.’ James raised his bleary eyes towards the ceiling. ‘Have you ever thought what it’s like living with someone as desperate for a child as Clare? How our whole life has been taken over by visits to the clinic, by tests and dates of the next appointment, the next procedure?’

  ‘I know it must be difficult, a terrible strain, but…’

  ‘ “Difficult? A terrible strain”? Believe me, Julia, you have no idea. Before it started we hadn’t had sex for two years without Clare telling me the exact point of her cycle. Can you imagine how off-putting that is?’

  ‘Well, no, but since you both wanted a baby so much, surely…?’

  James looked at her, his mouth set in a hard line. ‘That’s just it. I didn’t, not so much. It’s Clare who wants a child so badly. I thought she was happy with how things were. Decent income, good social life, nice holidays, no ties. Then all of a sudden, she hit 35, and having a baby became her one goal, the be-all and end-all. How stereotypical is that? The old biological clock kicking in.’

  There was a long pause as Julia took this in. ‘I had no idea,’ she said eventually. ‘I assumed you were both really keen.’

  James turned his face away. ‘I went along with it, tried to be as supportive as I could. But I’d have been happy enough carrying on as things were. If a child came along, fine. If not, OK.’ He paused. ‘Like you.’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, you’ve never bothered, have you? About children?’

  She didn’t reply, twisting her mug between her hands on the table.

  ‘Jules?’ He glanced at her sharply.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Don’t even go there,’ she said. ‘How can you sit there, making assumptions like that?’

  ‘Like you don’t make assumptions?’ James spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his voice. ‘You thought I wanted a baby as much as Clare.’

  ‘Well, yes, but that’s what everyone thought, what you let us think.’

  There was another silence. In the distance the cathedral clock struck five, followed a few seconds later by the grandmother clock’s brighter chime from the hall. ‘Not everyone,’ said James as the final note died away. ‘Greg guessed.’

  ‘Greg! When?’

  ‘Last summer. Just before he left.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t you say something when I came round offering support, encouraging you both to try again?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ James shrugged and yawned. ‘You seemed too involved somehow.’

  ‘Of course I was involved! I’m your sister, for heaven’s sake! And I like to think I’ve been a good friend to Clare since you got together.’

  ‘Oh, yes, no doubt about that. A good friend to Clare, the caring sister, what more could anyone ask from St Julia! Only –’ he eyeballed her, before continuing with slow deliberation, ‘only, has it ever occurred to you that as you go around dispensing support and care to your family and clients, your own life is a bit of a bloody mess?’

  Julia paused in the action of raising her mug to her mouth. ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ James ran his hand wearily over his bloodshot eyes. ‘I don’t need to spell it out! You’ve been so busy trying to sort everyone else out – shoring up Greg who never intended to get a proper job, organising Mum, being a shoulder for Clare to cry on, taking responsibility for everyone – that you never noticed what was really going on, never th
ought things might not work out as you planned.’

  She stared back at him, blood pounding in her ears. ‘I never had a plan,’ she said tightly.

  ‘Didn’t you?’ James held her gaze unblinkingly. ‘Didn’t you want everyone to live happily ever after? You wouldn’t even admit Mum was dying, forever ferrying her back and forth to the doctor for new tablets, when all she wanted was to be left in peace for her last few months!’ Noticing her open her mouth to protest, he continued relentlessly, ‘She did, Julia. She told me.’

  ‘But why didn’t she tell me?’ The childish whine came out before she could stop herself.

  ‘She could see how cut up you were about Greg. That was part of it.’

  ‘Part of it?’

  James slumped back in his chair and looked away, speaking more quietly as he continued. ‘You must know you’re always so definite about everything, so sure that your way is the right way, that people just fall in with you. It’s the line of least resistance.’

  ‘But Mum… We all thought Dr Smythe should have diagnosed her heart condition sooner, begun some treatment, referred her on, researched new medication…’

  ‘No, Julia. You thought that. Granted the heart failure seemed to come on suddenly. What was it, just a month or so after her annual check-up when she seemed as fit as ever? But she was seventy-five years old, anything can happen at that age. And she wasn’t exempt because she was our mother!’ He massaged his temples with his hands. ‘Our family isn’t immune from human weakness.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me! And whatever you do, don’t you dare try to connect Mother’s illness with your – your despicable behaviour by talking about “human weakness”!’ She slammed her coffee mug down.

  ‘Oh, “despicable behaviour”, is it? What condemnatory language from counsellor Julia! And here was I thinking you were supposed to listen to the full story before passing judgement. I’ve always suspected you were more your father’s daughter than our mother’s.’

  ‘What do you mean? You didn’t even know my father!’

  She could see from the gleam in his eye that he relished scoring a point. ‘Just something Mum said once.’