“Your mother and I have been in touch quite a lot over the last few days.” Dad scrapes the last of his porridge from the bowl.
“By phone?”
“Well that Facetime, or whatever it is.”
“Oh?” I feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of their cosy Facetimes. I want him looking after me and Jack, not going back to Mum.
“She wants us to go away for a week or two.” He pushes his bowl to one side. “Wants us to talk, apparently.”
“How do you feel about that?” I sniff. He seems to do well enough without her. I thought he’d fall to pieces about the affair, like he did last time. But I’m now thinking that he’s better off without her.
“You know me Fiona. Marriage is for life.”
“Thanks for the reminder Dad.”
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to come across so insensitively. It’s just, when I married your mother, I meant every word of my vows.” He sips from his mug. “We’ve been through so much together.”
“You mean she’s put you through so much.”
“Don’t be like that. She’s still your mother when all’s said and done.”
“When is she on about going away?”
“I’m not sure. But I got the impression she wanted to set off over the next day or two.”
“The next day or two! You know it’s the funeral on Friday?”
“I think she might have booked something already.” He looks sheepish.
“What mother dearest wants; mother dearest gets.”
“To be fair, you haven’t allowed a lot of notice for the funeral.”
“I took the first available date. What’s the point in dragging it out? You can postpone your trip, can’t you?” I want to tell him I can’t imagine getting through it without him, but something holds me back.
“I’ll see what your mother has in mind, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Dad! You can’t leave me to go through it all on my own!”
“I wouldn’t miss the funeral for anything love. I’ll be there. Even if I have to join your Mum later.”
“You mean she’s not coming? She’s supposed to be my mother. How could she not be there?” I know she’s selfish, but bloody hell.
“She absolutely hates funerals Fiona. She’s always been the same, you know that. She will do anything to get out of them.”
“Show me a person who likes a funeral. Apart from old people who go for the tea and a get together. What a selfish cow she is.”
“Fiona. You’ve every right to be annoyed, but there’s no need for that. Not in front of me. I’m not having you bad mouth your mother.”
“Can you take me to school now?” Jack bursts back into the room wearing the I am eight badge from his card.
“I’ll take you.” I push my cereal bowl away and rise from my chair, scowling at Dad.
I do my best as we drive to school, saying yes in all the right places and trying to feign interest in Jack’s chatter. It’s his birthday, after all. And I’ve not been present for him over the last week. But I’m so angry. And I’ve had enough.
I’m glad I’ve got that appointment tomorrow for the Antabuse tablets as the desire to drink is overwhelming. Even now, on a Wednesday morning. I haven’t spoken to my sponsor since my blowout last week. I’m too ashamed. I’ve ignored the calls both times that she’s tried to phone me. I can’t bear to hear the disappointment in her voice. And now it’s like having to start all over again.
I watch from the school gate as Jack runs across the playground to his friends. He’s sociable, like Rob was, not a reclusive introvert, like me. Normally I’d at least walk him through the playground to the space which his year group occupies, but I really can’t face the small talk today. Lynne is probably prowling around somewhere.
I’ve calmed down from the discussion with Dad by the time I turn the corner towards our house. Until I see Mum’s car parked beside the gate to the driveway. She’s taken the parcel shelf off and I notice the suitcases in the boot. She’s either back here to stay, or she’s here to take Dad off somewhere. Neither option appeals. A third one is that she is on her way back to Devon. This would be my preferred option.
“I’m back.” I step from the porch into the hallway. Silence.
I find them in the conservatory. Dad is doing his usual pacing of the floor.
“Ah Fiona. Did Jack get to school OK?”
“No, I lost him on the way. Of course he did! Alright Mum?”
“Fiona.” She nods stiffly, her earrings jangling. The cat is curled up beside her.
“Your mother and I are going away for a few days,” Dad says. He always avoids eye contact when he feels uncomfortable. “But we’ll be here for the funeral. We’ll drive back early. Promise.”
“All right Roger. There’s no need to go overboard.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just to Penrith. It’s in the North of the Lake District. It’s only a couple of hours away.”
“I know where Penrith is.” Rob and I stayed at a log cabin there before we had Jack. It was the middle of winter and it had a hot tub. I close my eyes against the memory. “It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”
“We don’t need to explain everything to you Fiona.” Whatever I did for Mum to despise me so much, I don’t know. “We’ve helped you with the funeral money since you’ve spent everything your grandmother left you. What more do you want from us?
The way she uses us makes me feel like an outcast. That’s how she operates. But I need to keep her on side, so they don’t go back on their decision to pay the funeral fees for me. I’m grateful to Dad. I don’t know how he talked her round, but I feel certain she will have put up some resistance. She helps others occasionally, but it comes at a cost, as it does with most narcissistic people. Before the funds have even been invoiced from the funeral director, Mum’s already throwing it back in my face.
“You will be there, won’t you?” I don’t even try to keep the pleading edge from my voice. Dad has been my rock lately. I wish Mum would bugger off. Now I see how well he’s been coping; I hope she reconciles with Shane. It’s amazing how much my feelings and behaviour have changed towards her over this last fortnight. Until then, I feared her. Especially the threat of her rejection that hung over me, and ultimately Jack too. After all, she’s the only Grandma Jack has. A strength I’ve never had before has fired in me over the last ten days, and I realise I owe her nothing, apart from the funeral money. I guess I’m realising what’s really important in life.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure I’ll be there Fiona.” She won’t meet my eyes now.
“Rob was your son-in-law.” I open the door to let some air in. I’m burning with anger. “How could you not be there? If Dad’s coming back, surely you’ll be with him?”
“I know what you’re saying Fiona. But I’ll have to see how I feel on Friday.” She strokes the cat as she speaks.
I stare at her. She’s wearing a short denim skirt, white low-cut blouse, and flip-flops. She dresses as though she’s far younger than she is. Dad always seems pleased to have her on his arm on the rare occasions they go out together. She might look the part, but inside she’s dead. I hate her right now and I can’t keep this out of my voice. “I can’t believe you’re talking about seeing how you feel. It’s my husband, who has just died. Can’t you be there for me, for a change?”
“I will do what I want to, Fiona. If I decide to come, I’ll be there. If I don’t, I won’t.”
Something inside me snaps. “Don’t bother Mum. It’s not as if you’d offer any support, anyway. You enjoy your holiday.”
“Wait in the car, love.” Dad nods in the direction of the door. “I want a quick chat with Fiona.”
“You’re packing me off whilst you talk about me behind my back?” Mum pouts, like Jack would. “It’s always been the same. You and your little father and daughter unit. Then you wonder why I’m so unhappy.”
“God, she’s such a witc
h.” I sink into the chair Mum has just left, the wicker creaking beneath me. The cat jumps off and runs into the dining room. Even she doesn’t want to sit with me. “I can’t believe you’re clearing off on holiday Dad.”
“She booked and paid for it all before she mentioned it.” Dad looks so beleaguered; I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “Don’t call her a witch. I reckon she wants to apologise for what she’s done with that Shane one.”
“You’re a coward Dad. Grandma was right. You let her walk all over you.”
“Don’t be like this. Look, I promise I’ll be here first thing Friday morning. With, or without your mother.”
“Make it without, if you don’t mind. I don’t want her there.”
* * *
This time in forty-eight hours,
it will all be over.
Chapter 39
The thud of the post on the doormat makes me jump in the house’s silence. Now that news of Rob’s death has spread, and I have announced the funeral, there are several sympathy cards, mostly signed from people I don’t know, then in brackets cycle club, or golf club.
There’s a letter from the mortgage company about the bloody arrears, since I didn’t ring them back last week. And there’s an interim funeral bill. They haven’t wasted any time. Two bloody grand. I must text Dad and let him know. Then I remember, I’ve no phone.
I can’t believe they have gone away. Mum couldn’t get away fast enough earlier. I’ve always known she was cold-hearted, but booking a reconciliatory holiday with Dad at a time like this, goes beyond what even I would have expected of her. It’s up there with when she kicked me out of home at sixteen. I’m quite surprised Dad’s gone with her. He must be over her barrel even more than I suspected.
I decide to spend the next couple of hours doing something normal. Housework. My life has fallen apart, but if I can get my house in order, then I might feel slightly better. I have done little since the day before Rob died, when my mother was on her way here. But I no longer care what she thinks of me, or my house. She can write her name in the dust for all she’s worth.
As I mop, dust and gather all the clutter together, my mind wanders to solutions rather than despair. It’s a better place to be. Perhaps DI Green will have retrieved the recording from my phone by now. She may have even re-interviewed Turner. I’ve got to stay hopeful about recovering at least some of that money. Even if not from him, there may be some kind of central insurance to help people who are victims of crime. And that’s what I’ve got to prove.
I’ve still got to clear my name with the hit-and-run allegation, but I think the only reason they haven’t let that one go from me, is because they don’t have a shred of evidence against anyone else. The charge I’ve received against Bryony is indefensible, but I’m going to plead extenuating circumstances and grovel my way out of a custodial sentence. Everything will be fine. My husband has died – I’m sure that will afford me some leniency and I have Jack to look after.
As I spray and wipe the kitchen cupboards, humming to the song on the radio, I know that the only way I will leave this house will be in a box. I love living here, and I’m going to fight tooth and nail to keep it.
Eventually, I sink into an armchair with a cup of tea. There’s only five minutes to spare before the funeral celebrant is due to arrive. Even though I’m expecting him, I still jump when the doorbell sounds. I open the door to a darkly dressed, shiny-shoed man who holds his hand towards me. “Joseph Alexander. We have an appointment.”
I accept his handshake, then invite him in. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, not for me, thanks. I had one at the office before I left.”
I don’t ask him where the office is. It could be at the funeral home, or the crematorium. I don’t know how people in the funeral service do the work they do, but it must be interesting. “Come through.”
He takes the seat by the window and I swivel my armchair around to face him.
“I’ll start by expressing my condolences for your loss, Mrs Matherson,” he begins. “Your husband was so young.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“And to be taken so suddenly and tragically,” he goes on. “I hope you’re being well looked after.”
“I was.” My previous fury with Mum snakes back up my spine. I try to quell it. She wants me to feel shittier than I already do. I will not bow to her wishes. “My Dad was here but now he’s had to go.”
“OK, well, as Emma from the funeral home will have explained, I will conduct your husband’s service, and I need to get some details to help me know your husband a little, and also to take some information in order that we can put the service together. We haven’t got a lot of time, with it only being on Friday, so we need to get through it all today.”
“What sort of details?” Emma asked me to give this some thought and dig out some photographs. I haven’t done either. I recall her saying I could have one photograph up on the screen throughout the service. My eyes fall on a recent one of Rob with Jack. They look like twins, though thirty years apart, both with exactly the same blue eyes, brown hair and even the shape of their eyebrows and the way they’re smiling. They’re both wearing navy, so look even more alike. “Can this photo be on display throughout the service?” I stand and pluck it from its corner in the bay window which looks over the garden. A cloud of dust would normally come with it, so I am pleased I’ve given the house the once over today.
“Is that the only one? Most people have a carousel. It’s not expensive.”
“That one on its own is fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one with you in it as well?” He takes the photograph from me.
“No, just that one.” I hope he will not challenge every one of my decisions.
“Right, as you wish. I’ll get it scanned onto the system.” He crosses one pin-striped leg across the other. “Before I go through the more formal questions, can you give me a flavour of Robert? His childhood, that sort of thing.”
“Yes, sure.” This is the easy bit. Talking about his past. “He was an only child, close to his parents. His dad died fairly recently, but his mother died before Rob and I met.”
“What did they do for a living?”
“His dad used to be a miner, and his mum worked in a shop. They apparently spent their entire lives worrying about money and how they would get by. It sounds as though they worked themselves into early graves. His dad died of a lung condition and his mum died from breast cancer.”
Joseph nods slowly. “Do you want your husband referred to as Rob throughout the service?”
“Yes, maybe give his full name, Robert Lee Matherson, right at the beginning.”
“I take it you want me to deliver the eulogy; you’ve no desire to do it yourself.”
“None.” I smile, despite the situation. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”
“How many people are you expecting? So I know which chapel to prepare.”
“We’re catering for seventy at the wake, so around that number.”
“OK. Right, let’s return to the background details. You were telling me about Rob’s parents, and how they struggled financially.”
“Yes. But there didn’t seem to be a shortage of love.” I think of my own mother and almost grit my teeth before continuing. “They had days out in Scarborough, on the bus, and he often talked about his mother’s wonderful cooking and ability to make something out of nothing. He’s said before, that he never heard a cross word between his parents.” Unlike us, I resist adding. I glance around my lounge before absentmindedly continuing. “I’m going to have to go through all these photographs. I can’t stand Rob staring at me from every corner. Once Friday is over…”
“What about his education?” Joseph asks, his pen poised over his clipboard. He has got one of the most groomed beards I have ever seen. Dad would be jealous of it. Rob tried growing a beard after we got engaged, but it was a different colour to the rest of his hair – he looked strange. I told him
I wouldn’t kiss him unless he shaved it off.
“He passed his eleven plus, so went to grammar school. Apparently, he was quite academic, great at sport too – he still is… was.”
“It must be really hard for you, all this.” Joseph glances up from his writing. “You’re doing really well. Tell me about his sports.”
“From what he’s said over the years, he took part in everything,” I reply. “He’s always been modest, but he seemed to have been one of those popular boys at school, looked up to by others, and good at whatever he put his mind to.” Unlike me, I want to chip in again. It’s no wonder I ended up on the drink. I didn’t stand a chance in life with the mother I’ve got.
“Did Rob have any other family?”
“He went on to marry, after his first engagement broke up.”
“What was his first wife’s name?”
“Denise. They have a ten-year-old daughter together. Simone.” I really, really hope Simone doesn’t come on Friday. She’ll make it all about her, they both will. I glance at the photograph of her on the mantlepiece. That is coming down.
“Can you tell me about Rob’s career?”
I can’t tell him the truth – that he got sacked for embezzling money from his employers. It will have to be a partial truth. Rob’s lucky I’m sat here, arranging all this for him. If the shoe had been on the other foot, with the betrayal, fraud, and deceit I’m having to endure, Rob would have had me burnt at the stake, never mind at a crematorium.
“He went from doing, I think, it was Maths, Physics and History at A-Level, to a Degree in Business and Finance. He spent most of his career with Bracken Furniture. I used to go on at him to be more ambitious. But he was happy there.”
“And settling in a job makes some people happy, doesn’t it?” Joseph loosens his tie. “Not everyone wants to move around.”
Hit and Run Page 21
