by Sarah Till
“It’s here, Jinny. The tie is here.”
He stood in the doorway, tie in hand, other hand in pocket, looking like he was already undergoing an endurance test. His forehead was crumpled and his lips were tight. I stood up straight.
“Sorry, El, sorry. I should have done this earlier. Last night. I just feel so...so...”
His arms shot out to hug me as I collapsed into a heap of sorrow. It wasn’t so much the fact that my mother was going to be buried today, or the fact that she had been horribly murdered. In fact, I had grown quite grotesquely used to these things now as they weaved in and out of my consciousness over the past few days. It had more to do with feeling left out, excluded. Alone. Even though Ellis held me tight now, the part of me that wanted to be accepted and validated willed the phone to ring and for my son to ask me a simple question about the day. Perhaps, ‘How are you getting there, Mum?’ or ‘Shall I meet you at the church?’ Or my daughter to call round to ask if we wanted to contribute towards some flowers. For this, I felt guilty. A deep shame that I had Ellis, who had so far tolerated me admirably; that I wanted my children, who were clearly in league with their father and had extinguished all feelings for me; that if I had the choice, I wouldn’t go to my own mother’s funeral. I recognised my own aversion tactics better than anyone, except perhaps Ellis. The stroppiness and carrying-on were for the benefit of my audience - again Ellis - who I hoped would grant me the anonymous permission I needed to not go. Then, when people berated me in the future, I could share the burden of blame.
“Ellis and I agreed that I was too upset to go.” Or “Ellis thought I would have a breakdown if I went.” And in an even further bending of the truth, “Ellis understood when I told him that it would only cause trouble if I went to the funeral.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. Ellis, an old hand at my near hysterical denial of my ability to go out of the house, started to lace up his best funeral shoes. I remembered that he had fallen foul of this tactic before and actually believed that I wouldn’t go somewhere I was nervous about.
“Look, I don’t think we should go on the train. I’ll drive us.”
I stared at Ellis as panic set in. He had suggested a deviation from the plan that I had so carefully played out over and over during the past twenty-four hours.
“What about the wake? There’s bound to be booze and you’ll want a drink. Well, I will.”
“I said that I would drive. You can still have a couple. I’m not bothered. I’m happy to drive.”
I wanted to continue with the argument but time wouldn’t allow it. We were already late. If we were getting the train we would absolutely have to go now. If Ellis drove us, that would mean we had an extra half an hour. I looked at his strained expression as he watched for any sign of agreement. I nodded and he let out a sigh of relief.
“OK. You drive. But shall we set off a bit earlier? I’d like to be there before Mum arrives, to get used to the surroundings and see who’s there.”
“Sure. Whatever will make you happy, Jinny.”
Ellis smiled a little now and I felt an inordinate amount of love for him. Of course, I realised that he had an ulterior motive. So long as he managed to me bring into a haze of tranquillity, his life would be easy and quiet. The minute I reared up and began to snarl, as I tended to do under extreme pressure, he was tarred with the same brush. So, although I knew it was all in the spirit of self-preservation, I appreciated it anyway. The half an hour passed quickly with my applying more mascara, changing my stockings for a more heavily patterned pair that looked better with my black boots and skirt suit. Ellis changed his shirt twice and finally we were ready. Ellis smiled and left silently for our lock-up garage around the corner. Seven minutes later he sounded the horn of our car outside. I locked the door securely behind me and ran to the car, detecting a slight drizzle from the pearlescent sky.
“OK. Let’s go!”
I made it sound like were on a secret, dangerous mission. My stomach certainly felt as if we were. Ellis concentrated on the London traffic and as soon as we were out of the city centre, he began to chat to me. He cleverly decided to talk about work to get my mind off the funeral.
“So, what did you say you were doing in the park? Talking about the God project? What’s the project leader like?”
I conjured up a picture of Lynus in my mind’s eye and smiled automatically.
“He’s called Lynus Brown. He’s a blind piano tuner who works for this do-gooding charity. Alexander Emmanuel Foundation or something.”
Ellis brightened.
“Oh, the Alexander Emmanuel? They’re big arts sponsors.”
I was surprised that Ellis had heard of them. There was rarely any crossover in our work life.
“Oh, right. Have you had any dealings with them?”
Ellis smiled.
“Years ago. We were working on an Angel project, where an organisation became an Angel and sponsored a disadvantaged young person to construct a piece of angel art. They sponsored at least ten young people and mentored double that number. They’re very generous. The only problem is, they don’t accept funding requests. Everything they do seems to be handpicked by them. It sort of relies on making them aware of what you need and then hoping for the best.”
I nodded excitedly and forgot for a moment where we were going.
“Yes, yes. They contacted us regarding this project. It’s weird really. Not so much of a project as a learning curve. There’s no tangible outcome. For me, anyway. Lynus talked a lot about how we help each other and how aware we are of being helped, and all about how certain people were never given a chance, a bit like him really. He was blind from birth, you know, and taught himself to tune pianos. Got his job through the Institute. He’s so, well, so down to earth, very authentic and caring. A bit like an angel actually.”
We both laughed at the thought of Lynus being an angel but my mind wandered a few yards further down the road and rested on the two words that I had so far invisibly associated with this project, which as yet, eluded me: Kevin Jakowski. Kevin had nearly always spoken in riddles, a sort of interlocking puzzle of a conversation that wouldn’t really resolve itself until the middle of the night. I would wake up in a cold sweat and feel like I had discovered some great treasure or that a secret had been revealed. I had been in some way, relieved. I sorely missed that feeling and, for a second, wished Kevin back into my life. Before I could analyse this seemingly tenuous connection further. My schema advanced along associations and before I knew it I had covered Kevin’s death, his funeral, and was back in the car with the fact that I was nearing my murdered mother’s funeral fresh in my mind. Ellis anticipated my mood switch and decided on a full-on approach.
“So, no more news on whodunit?”
I looked at him sideways.
“No. Nothing. Just that John Baxter mentioned that the woman DI Payne saw at the cottage would have been his mum. Apparently, she and mum were friends.”
My voice was bitter and Ellis noticed.
“Surely you don’t begrudge her a bit of happiness in her last couple of years? Sounds to me like she grew herself a whole new family. A bit like I have, I suppose. I mean, I hardly see my kids now; I see more of Shiralee and Jupe. Things move on, don’t they? But that doesn’t mean I forgot about them. Sometimes it’s just better to let sleeping dogs lie. I expect if she knew she was going to die she would have got in touch with you. It’s just all been so sudden. No wonder you feel angry. It’s like she just deserted you by going so suddenly.”
“Deserted me again,” I corrected, “It’s not like it’s the first time she’s disappeared from my life, is it?”
Ellis was gritting his teeth now.
“No, Jinny, it isn’t. But there are different kinds of disappearing, aren’t there? When you parted ways all those years ago, you always knew where she was and she always knew where you were. She probably asked about you when the kids went round. I know you asked them. So, in actual fact, there was still some
kind of relationship going on, a sort of shadow relationship. And at any time, either of you could have just picked the phone up, or written a letter, or gone to visit.”
I knew that he was right and that all this now underlined the fact that she was gone forever. I repeated this over and over in my mind. Gone forever. What if there was a heaven and she was there with Dad? Tormenting him again? I sneered at myself for my foolish thoughts and stayed quiet for the rest of the journey.
In hardly any time we were driving up the lane towards the church. There appeared to be lots of cars parked nearby, and the yard, as we approached, was a buzz of activity. We parked up in the lane beside the church, as near as possible - for a quick getaway according to Ellis - and I gathered my composure. I could see Reverend Sloan and John Baxter welcoming the mourners in unison, handing a gilt-edged brochure to each. I looked around for evidence of my children, who were nowhere to be seen. I vaguely recognised several of the people in the yard as Mum’s old friends and distant family. There were positively hordes of people, lots of youngsters and a choir. Finally, I spotted the police delegation leaning surreptitiously against the graveyard boundary. DI Payne nodded almost invisibly at me and Ellis nodded back. I thought that Ellis was secretly enjoying himself: I knew him so well and to him, this translated into the backdrop of a complex Bond movie. Right at that moment he looked like he was trying to blend in with the police by looking notoriously suspicious. I nudged him as Reverend Sloane spotted us and smiled benevolently. John Baxter’s expression remained neutral as his eyes moved from me to Ellis and back again. I tried to walk towards the church door but Sloanwas upon us.
“Virginia!”
He put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me involuntarily towards him.
“Reverend Sloan!”
I spoke in my best muted voice, the one I saved for work meetings and funerals. He released me and gathered his hands in front of his stomach.
“Well, Virginia. You certainly are in for a surprise. Things have changed a lot since you were last here. Thanks mostly to this man!”
He pulled at John Baxter’s arm and he turned around and held out his hand for Ellis to shake. Ellis responded warmly and John turned to me.
“Virginia. Please accept my condolences on this sad day.” He pulled my body to his and his hand touched the back of my head. His lips were level with my ear and suddenly I felt scared and exposed. His voice, hushed but not a whisper, flowed into my senses. “The Lord be with you, Virginia, the Lord be with you.” He released me and nodded his head. He looked at Ellis and Reverend Sloan and repeated his words. “The Lord be with you.”
Reverend Sloan nodded with him. I couldn’t decide if he was being creepy, officious, or just trying to be nice under difficult circumstances. He certainly seemed to be acting as if he was some kind of church officer. I hadn’t been aware that he was, but silently supposed that I didn’t really know anything about this man. I looked to Ellis for confirmation but he was still staring at the police. Reverend Sloane continued.
“Yes, Virginia, John here and your mother were stalwarts of the church. John has been involved in other churches over the years and when he came to live in the village, he made a number of suggestions as to how we could bring modern times upon us. How we could bring more new people into the church. Very, very important. They worked tirelessly, you know.”
John stood and smiled. I wasn’t entirely sure why Reverend Sloan was so excited. The church and the village looked exactly the same. Same old church, same old graveyard, same old village in the background. I know I had to say something.
“Very nice. So, what sort of things have you been improving?”
John shifted from foot to foot and became animated.
“Recruitment. We’ve mainly been on a recruitment drive. In schools and in the villages surrounding. Important for young people and family values.”
He stared right at me as if he had issued a challenge. I responded quickly.
“Quite. Yes. Good work.”
The atmosphere was suddenly rigid and Reverend Sloan intervened.
“You’ll see, Virginia. You’ll see. We have something very special in store, something special to give Sally the farewell she deserves.”
John almost interrupted.
“Bon voyage, Ted, and Je vous rencontrerai encore. Of course, Sally and I will meet again. We’ll all meet again. All us believers will be on the right hand of the throne.”
Reverend Sloan dabbed his eyes.
“Amen, John, amen.”
I was beginning to wonder which one of them was actually the vicar. John clearly had total authority over Ted Sloan and the situation seemed to be some kind of show of strength. Ellis was still craning his neck at the police, who had now grown in number. DI Payne had been joined by a tall man in a suit and another man who was looking from side to side and talking into a radio. I momentarily wondered if Ellis had conjured them up in his James Bondesque imagination. He nudged me and without removing his eyes from them, spoke in a loud stage whisper.
“It’s like fucking Mission Impossible over there. Who would have thought your mum would need full blown security at her funeral. I thought he said it would be low key.”
I had to admit it was beginning to look like a Sicilian burial.
“Hmm. To be honest, I think I’m out of touch, El. John and Ted seem to be running a camp for religious recruits and the CID over there seem to be intent that Mum’s murderer will turn up at the funeral.”
Another black car pulled up and four more suit-clad policemen joined DI Payne.
I braced myself.
“I’m going over to ask him what’s going on.”
Ellis took my arm.
“Not yet, Jinny.”
I turned and saw the hearse bearing my mother’s coffin approaching. There was a black funeral car behind. I stared at her coffin as it passed and remembered momentarily her laughing with my father, then my father’s coffin being in exactly the same spot, and my predicament then. As if to reinforce this, Swiss Steve alighted from the following funeral limousine. He looked at me with his ‘we should have been a family’ look and held the door open for Shiralee, who emerged in a flurry of black lace. Her dress was Victorianesque and she wore a small top hat delicately placed on her head and a cascade of sheer black lace over her hair and face. In place of her usual D&G handbag, she carried my mum’s bible, the family bible that Dad kept in the writing bureau. My temper rose but I damped it down.
She was followed by a long pair of suited legs, and an expensive jacket, cut in the latest style. Jupiter emerged and I hardly recognised my son. He was tidied and his hair shorn. A single earring was the only evidence of the raft of jewellery he usually wore. No eyeliner. No nail polish. No frown. He glanced at John Baxter and smiled sadly. Then he saw me. He turned his body away and huffed off behind the hearse, out of my sight.
I glanced sideways at Ellis. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and we sighed in unison. Swiss Steve joined John Baxter behind the hearse as the undertaker released the hatch door and slid the coffin out. As Swiss Steve took hold of the end of my mother’s coffin, Ellis took my hand and squeezed it hard. The coffin was lifted out and carried by John, Swiss Steve, Jupiter, and three pallbearers. As they made the slow walk from the hearse to the church doors, Shiralee fell in line behind Reverend Sloan who chanted appropriate scriptures. Ellis pulled me into the line, although my feet objected and I stumbled a little. I looked behind me and a crowd of young people swarmed into the wake of the procession, mingling with the large crowd of mourners. Each carried a single red rose. The whole picture seemed extremely surreal and my senses swayed. I stepped forward as I stared backwards, guided by Ellis’ arm. Suddenly, we were at the church doors and the procession had stopped. I glanced at my mother’s coffin and noted that John Baxter had been replaced by an elderly parishioner at the head of the coffin. He appeared to be rushing up to the front of the church. My eyes followed him as he leapt upon what appeared to b
e a stage, erected in place of the former choir stalls, and picked up an electric guitar.
The first chords of ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ by the rock band Oasis slammed through the church and my disbelief was suspended. I broke free from Ellis and moved slightly forward to see what I was about to endure. The whole church had been turned into a ‘venue’, complete with velour tip-up seats, a slightly sloping floor, huge speakers and what appeared to be a dance-floor area at the front. The stage was occupied by a full rock band complete with two drum kits. The only items that remained to remind us that it was, in fact a church, where the original ornate pulpit and the stained-glass windows. The walls had been stripped of their gargoyles and ornate carvings, of all their iconicity. Above the stage hung a huge brilliant-white statue of Jesus on the cross. Ellis’ mouth hung open in surprise, as he had never even seen the church as it had been previously.
“Wow. It’s a fucking rock concert. Wow. And check John out!”
I stared at John Baxter, the middle-aged husband of my elderly mother, as he moved up to the microphone. For all the world he looked like a man who had studied hours and hours of video footage of Liam Gallagher and had the stance and the stare exactly right.
My patience was faltering. John Baxter looked like a prick, a midlife-crisis driven bundle of ego with a guitar. I looked around and no one else seemed to be having a reaction to the strangeness. Swiss Steve was concentrating on getting my mother to her resting place; no change there then. Jupiter and Shiralee seemed to be walking in time with the music, as if this had been highly rehearsed. Reverend Sloan slunk off towards the pulpit. He climbed aboard and smiled serenely through John’s guitar solo, a pious island in a sea of inappropriateness. The song ended with my mother’s coffin laid on a trestle in front of a huge speaker. John hung his guitar with several other expensive looking ones, and jumped from the stage to join his audience. I glanced behind me. The church was packed to the rafters and the police were at the back guarding the doors. The black suits whispered into their radios and looked heavenward. Ellis moved closer to me and whispered in my ear.
