After the Funeral

by Gillian Poucher

  There was a white envelope waiting for her on the doormat, bearing the mortgage company’s details on the rear flap. She flicked on the kettle before opening it. As she expected, it was a further letter warning of pending possession proceedings if the mortgage arrears plus interest and costs weren’t paid within the next fourteen days. She tossed it into the recycling bin and made a mug of strong tea, scooping in two teaspoonfuls of sugar. In the sitting room she sank down into her armchair, staring into space as she replayed the morning’s events.

  She’d never lost her self-control so completely as she had done in the last hour, first with Clare, then with Greg. She hadn’t known that she was capable of turning into that screaming, violent creature. Nor had she realised until that moment of clarity with Clare in the café how much she had wanted a child.

  She had no idea how long she sat and wept, grieving for the child she would never have. She folded her arms across her body, tucking her knees under her, rocking back and forth in the armchair. Eventually she grew calmer, her sobs less frequent. When the phone rang, it made her start. She didn’t move from her chair, listening for the answerphone. There was a long pause as the caller didn’t respond immediately to her invitation for them to leave a message. Then she heard her sister-in-law’s hesitant voice. ‘Julia. It’s me, Clare. I hope you’re OK. I’m sorry. I had no idea.’ There was another pause as if she were trying to think what else to say. Then she hung up.

  Julia closed her eyes, resting her head against the back of her chair. It was good of Clare to phone. She wasn’t sure she would have done if roles were reversed. She needed to apologise. But not now. Later.

  When the phone rang again though, she dragged herself out of the chair and went out to the hall, thinking it would be Clare ringing back. She picked up the receiver, glancing at herself in the mirror above her grandfather’s bookcase. Her face was pale, her hazel eyes swollen and circled by dark shadows. The crow’s feet at the corners seemed to have deepened. Grey roots were coming through her highlighted brunette bob. With a jolt, she realised how she had aged in the few weeks since her mother’s death.

  The caller hesitated. ‘Julia?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me. Grace.’

  ‘Oh. Grace. Hello.’ Another damaged relationship. This one a client. Julia picked up a pen from the bookcase, tapping it against the walnut wood.

  ‘I really need to see you. Can you fit me in early next week?’ Grace’s voice, always soft, sounded more childish than ever.

  Julia hesitated. She was due to see her supervisor Louise on Monday afternoon, and she didn’t need Louise to tell her that she was in no fit condition to be counselling at present.

  ‘Please, Julia.’ A stifled sob. ‘I’m sorry about what I said on Wednesday. It wasn’t fair. I understand you must get distracted sometimes. Honestly, you’ve helped me so much. I really need your help again now.’

  Julia’s heart rose. Warmth spread through her. ‘Of course, Grace,’ she said. ‘How about ten o’clock on Monday morning?’

  ‘Yes. That would be fine.’

  ‘Good. I look forward to seeing you then.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. Bye.’

  ‘Bye for now.’ Julia replaced the handset in the cradle. Someone, her client, a young woman who had said she was like a mother to her, needed her. She felt a new sense of energy and purpose. She pushed aside the thought of what Louise would say about her motives for agreeing to see Grace in her current state.

  –  CHAPTER 17  –

  There was no sign of Pete in the old school the following Monday. Julia had avoided thinking about him since his ill-judged kiss after Ada’s party. As her footsteps echoed down the poorly-lit corridor she was surprised how much she missed his presence. Apart from holidays, he had always been around during the past five years. Other tenants had come and gone and he had been the one constant.

  Julia sighed as she entered her office, mechanically switching on the fire and opening the blind. She fingered the broken slat. No need to worry about that with just a few weeks to go before the tenancy expired. Would Pete still want to share premises with her now? It was, as he had said, an obvious solution, even if she had been non-committal about the idea.

  She looked out across the former playground. Rain slanted down on to the rutted concrete where deep puddles had formed. She could hear a steady drip from the broken gutter above the neighbouring disused classroom. She wouldn’t miss this place, even if the thought of searching for alternative premises added to her general feeling of fatigue. She yawned as she took her notes from her filing cabinet, wishing she’d picked up a coffee on the way in. She’d overslept after another poor night, broken by dreams she couldn’t remember. She’d done little at the weekend apart from catching up with some household chores and paying a short visit to Aunt Ada, still unconscious in hospital after her stroke. Her mind had wandered when she had tried to read or watch TV, and she had been unable to summon up the energy to go out for a walk, even though she knew the exercise would be beneficial. It had been a rush to get in for her appointment with Grace.

  Her client came into view beneath a striped red and yellow umbrella. She hesitated a moment inside the gateway, looking back towards the terraced street where a bus thundered past. Julia wondered if she was having second thoughts about the session. She felt strangely bereft at the thought her client might turn back the way she had come. Her heart lifted as Grace turned towards the building and crossed the yard.

  A few minutes later she was perched on the edge of her chair looking down at the worn grey carpet. Her posture took Julia back to the start of their initial session. Today the counsellor knew she must take the initiative.

  ‘Grace, let me apologise again about my lack of attention last week. I’m so pleased you contacted me to arrange to come back today.’

  ‘Really?’ Her client looked at her directly for the first time since entering the room. There were dark shadows under her eyes. Apparently Julia wasn’t the only one suffering from lack of sleep.

  ‘Really.’ Julia smiled at her, and was rewarded with a wan smile in return. ‘As a person-centred counsellor, I take my responsibility to offer all my clients my full attention when they are here very seriously, whatever is going on for me. I failed you in that last week, and I am so sorry.’

  Grace nodded. She dropped her eyes, crossing and uncrossing her long legs in their skinny jeans.

  Julia waited a moment. ‘Is that OK, Grace?’

  Grace turned her head towards the window, pulling her heavy plait forward. ‘Yes, I accept your apology. It’s just… How does it work for you?’ She fixed her startling blue eyes on Julia. ‘Am I just another client, just another case?’

  Julia took a moment, sensing how important her response was if she were to regain her client’s fragile trust. ‘I hope I don’t treat any of my clients as “just another”, and certainly not as “cases.”’ She shook her head in distaste, remembering Aunt Ada’s condescending, ‘Is she one of your cases, Julia?’ when Linda had staggered into the dining room nine days ago. ‘I try, as much as I can, to respond to each client as an individual to be treasured.’

  ‘I see.’ Grace bit her lip, twisting her slender hands in her lap. ‘So you feel the same way towards each client, then?’ She darted a quick glance towards Julia.

  There was a beat. Julia knew what the professional answer was, but the appeal in her client’s eyes led her to respond more personally. ‘Honestly, no,’ she said. ‘There are always some people we feel closer to than others, aren’t there?’

  Grace nodded and moved back a little in her chair. Julia hoped her client wouldn’t push her any further, recalling how at the start of the previous session Grace had identified her as being like the mother she had never had. As Julia had done then, she steered the session on to safer ground.

  ‘So I’m wondering what led you to phone on Friday? You sounded as though it were quite urgent.’

  The younger woman ta
pped her unvarnished oval fingernails against the wooden arm of her armchair. She nodded and took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant.’ She burst into tears.

  Julia swallowed and closed her eyes. The ugly scenes with Clare and Greg three days earlier swam before her. She imagined she could sense the gaping emptiness in her womb which had led to that bout of inconsolable weeping when she reached home. Now here was her client clearly distressed to find herself pregnant. Life is so unfair. She took a deep breath as Grace groped blindly for a tissue from the box which lay on the side table between them. Julia automatically reached across and handed her one, grateful that the other woman was too distracted to notice anything unusual in her response.

  When her client was calmer, Julia said, ‘So you’ve found out you’re pregnant, and I’m guessing from your reaction it wasn’t planned?’

  Grace shook her head.

  ‘And there couldn’t be a mistake?’

  ‘There’s no mistake.’ Grace sighed. ‘I went to see my GP after I did the pregnancy test. My cycle is erratic. I hadn’t thought about how late I was. He thinks I’m around eleven or twelve weeks. I’ll know more when I’ve seen the midwife. It’s a disaster.’

  ‘A disaster?’

  Grace nodded, her plait bouncing against her right shoulder. ‘It’s not the right time,’ she said, ‘not with where I’m up to with my research.’ She hid her head in her hands. ‘But that’s not the worst thing. Oh, I’m not sure I can even tell you!’ She was overcome by a fresh storm of tears. Julia silently handed her a couple more tissues.

  After a few minutes Grace’s sobs subsided. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, looking at Julia with red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Julia gently. ‘Would you like to tell me why you see your pregnancy as a disaster?’

  Grace inhaled. ‘I don’t know who the father is,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I feel so terrible! I’ve never been involved with more than one man at a time. I broke up with my long term boyfriend when I got involved with the man I was telling you about last week, when you weren’t.…’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t matter. But it was around the same time, and because I can’t be absolutely sure about dates, I don’t know which man is the father. What am I going to do?’ She gazed wide-eyed at Julia, like a bewildered small girl.

  Julia chose her words carefully. ‘Are you asking me what you’re going to do about your pregnancy, Grace, or about how to deal with not knowing who the father is?’

  ‘I’ve got no choice about the pregnancy,’ said Grace. ‘I have to go through with it. I know that.’

  ‘You have to go through with it?’

  Grace nodded. ‘Absolutely. I might not have retained the evangelical beliefs of my upbringing, but I couldn’t live with myself if I had a termination.’

  ‘So you don’t think you have a choice?’

  ‘No, definitely not!’ Grace’s usually soft voice was so sharp that Julia jumped. ‘It’s a life, isn’t it?’

  Julia had counselled clients who had had abortions and felt guilty afterwards, and others who had chosen abortion and been certain it was the right decision. She had always been careful to remain neutral, to help her clients towards choices which were right for them. Weary, facing Grace’s challenging gaze and newly aware of her grief at her childless state, she found herself answering simply, ‘Yes. It’s a life.’

  ‘So I will have the baby. But I’m so scared about bringing it – I mean, him or her – up alone.’

  ‘You don’t think the father would want to be involved?’

  Grace studied the end of her plait a moment. ‘I don’t want anything to do with the man I broke up with,’ she said bluntly, ‘and the other man made it clear he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.’ She began to cry again.

  ‘Ah.’ Julia realised this must be the man Grace had said she missed so much, the man Julia had wrongly assumed to be her father when she had been distracted by her own thoughts the previous session. Trying to avoid any possibility that Grace would think she was encouraging her to disclose her pregnancy to either man, she framed an unfinished question. ‘But if either man knew he were the father…?’

  ‘You mean by a DNA test?’ Grace leaned forward and held her head in her hands. ‘Like I said, I never want to see the man I finished with again.’ She lowered her hands. Julia instinctively moved back in her seat, recoiling from the anger in the bright blue eyes. ‘He was a two-timing bastard,’ she spat out.

  Julia waited a moment, an image of Greg flashing through her mind. ‘Is that something you want to explore further?’

  ‘No.’ Grace shuddered. ‘I’ve wasted more than enough time on him. But then,’ she brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, ‘that’s what the wife of the other man would say, isn’t it? What was I thinking, letting myself get involved with a married man?’ She gazed across at Julia. The counsellor was grateful that the younger woman didn’t wait for an answer given her own recent experience. ‘I’m so ashamed. I knew he was married. It all happened so fast. I know I was on the rebound from Mark. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was angry, and felt rejected.’ She began to cry again, ‘And he’s so intelligent, and good-looking, I was so flattered…’ She tailed off, breaking down again.

  ‘Oh, Grace,’ said Julia softly, ‘I am so sorry.’

  She moved across and put her arm round the younger woman’s slim shoulders. After a while Grace’s sobs subsided and she relaxed against Julia who didn’t try to disengage herself. She told herself she was waiting for Grace to move away, that she didn’t want her client to feel any further sense of rejection, but somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew she was relishing the feeling of being needed. Fostering client dependency, Louise would say, but Julia pushed the thought of her upcoming supervision appointment from her mind.

  Finally Grace pulled away, still sniffing. ‘Thank you.’ She half-smiled. ‘I knew you would listen and not judge.’ She paused, fixing Julia with her wide child-like gaze. ‘Like I said last week, I do see you as the mother I never had.’

  Julia swallowed, a lump in her throat.

  ‘And that’s the other thing,’ Grace went on, apparently oblivious to her counsellor’s reaction, ‘how ever am I going to tell Frances?’ Her delicate face suddenly contorted. ‘I can already hear her talking about what Father would have said, how disappointed he would have been at my sinfulness.’

  Julia blinked at the word ‘sinfulness,’ but Grace didn’t notice. ‘Even worse, she’s bound to drag up my mother’s mental illness.’ She screwed up her eyes as if in pain.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. You remember I told you about how my mother set fire to the house when I was a baby, holding me in her arms?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Julia. It would be impossible to forget, especially after the coincidence of her nightmare on the evening of her mother’s funeral.

  ‘And I told you they thought that she had been suffering from postpartum psychosis. You know, where the mother develops mental health problems after childbirth?’

  Julia nodded. One of her early clients had experienced the condition.

  ‘Frances has pointed out many times that there’s a high risk that I will develop it too. It’s genetic, you see.’ Grace began to cry again. ‘She’s always made clear she thinks it would be better for me not to have children because of the risk. And you remember she implied that my withdrawn behaviour when I was growing up was due to mental health problems?’

  ‘Yes. I remember.’ Julia passed her client another tissue.

  ‘That’s why I’m so scared about being pregnant,’ sniffed Grace, ‘and the birth. What if I end up sick like my mother? I feel so isolated, so alone. You’ve no idea.’

  But I do, thought Julia, rising from her chair impulsively. I have never felt so alone as I do now. She covered the short distance between them and knelt beside her client, opening her arms. Grace rested her head against her counsellor’s
powder blue roll neck sweater and Julia stroked her strawberry blonde hair, soothing her like a small child. ‘You poor girl,’ she said softly.

  After a few moments Grace moved away slightly, keeping her hand on Julia’s arm. Her blue eyes shone with a new idea. ‘I wonder, when the time comes, when I have the baby, could you be my birth partner?’

  Julia stiffened. Grace immediately released her hold on her arm, standing so suddenly that Julia would have toppled over from her kneeling position if she hadn’t grabbed hold of the chair arm. Her client didn’t look at her as she pulled on her coat.

  ‘Of course you can’t. What was I thinking?’ Grace threw some crumpled notes from her coat pocket on to the side table. ‘It would breach your precious professional boundaries, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Grace…’

  Bang. The door had already slammed behind her client.

  Through the rain-spattered window Julia watched Grace move swiftly across the slushy playground, nearly tripping in her high-heeled black boots. In her haste she didn’t even bother to put up her umbrella.

  Without thinking how unprofessional it was to go after a client, Julia dashed out of the office and down the corridor. Opening the front door, she was nearly knocked backwards by a gust of wind. Grace had come to a halt a few yards short of the gateway, her head turned towards a figure walking up the street.

  The person turned in at the gateway, battling with a black umbrella which had turned inside out, not seeing Grace who remained rooted to the spot. He was wearing a navy parka, like the one James had. Half-sliding on a patch of ice on the front step, Julia saw that it was James who emerged from beneath the umbrella. She sighed. She didn’t want him to see her chasing after a disgruntled client. She stepped back into the doorway, ducking away from the dripping downspout.