by Cathy Glass
‘Dad,’ she said presently, bringing her gaze forward. ‘Did John phone you last night after I’d spoken to him?’ For it seemed the nature of their family’s dynamics that he might.
‘Early this morning,’ her father confirmed.
‘And he told to you I went to see Jimmy?’
He nodded, while her mother sat very still.
‘Were Gran and Grandpa told of Jimmy’s death?’
He nodded again. ‘Shortly after he died, but not the details – not about his daughter, nor how he died. They didn’t need to know, and your gran certainly doesn’t now, she’s had enough upset.’ Mandy heeded the warning not to tell her. ‘I asked your grandparents not to say anything to you. I didn’t want Jimmy’s name ever mentioned again. So if you are looking for someone to blame, it’s me,’ he finished uncharacteristically sharply, taking the criticism personally.
‘I’m not blaming you, Dad,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just trying to piece together the past. When I remembered what Jimmy had done didn’t you think it was a good time to tell me he was dead?’
He glanced at her in the interior mirror. ‘Clearly not. If I’d known it was so important to you, I would have told you. I thought the whole subject was best left alone. Perhaps I should have told you what John told your grandparents – that Jimmy had died of a heart attack. That way you would have been satisfied and not gone on a quest for more information. It’s bad enough knowing that my decision allowed Jimmy to go on and attack others, without you feeling responsible too.’ He paused. Mandy remained quiet, stung by his admission of guilt. ‘As I said last week, Mandy, I’ll do what I can to help you – pay for a therapist if you think it will help, or perhaps you’d like to go on holiday with Adam? I’ll pay for it. But I can’t turn back the clock. If I could, I would, believe me, love.’
Mandy looked at him in the interior mirror as he concentrated on the road ahead. She saw the familiar little creases in the corners of his eyes that had grown over the years; the lines across his forehead, deeper now from frowning; his grey hair and receding hairline; and the humility and sadness in his gaze.
‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I know you did what you thought was best. I’ll be fine, really I will. Moving in with Adam will be a fresh start. I’m just glad I found out now rather than later. There aren’t any more family secrets I should know about?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ he said with a small tight laugh. ‘I’d have thought that was enough!’
Easing out her seatbelt she leant forward between them and kissed their cheeks. ‘Good.’
The atmosphere in the car grew sombre as they approached the crematorium. Although they were half an hour early there were already a dozen or so mourners standing in small groups in the car park. Mandy didn’t recognize them, and neither did her parents. ‘Friends and neighbours, I expect,’ her father said. ‘Looks like we’re waiting for the service before to finish.’
He parked the car, cut the engine and opened the windows slightly for some fresh air. Through the open window Mandy could hear a lone song thrush trilling unseen in the branches overhead. The car park was surrounded by trees and shrubs, and the pathway leading to the chapel was lined with planters. The chapel itself was more like an ornate village church than a crematorium, and very different from the one she’d been to for Lucy’s funeral while at university. Lucy’s was the only other funeral Mandy had been to, and she remembered how she and her friends had cried continuously throughout the service, while Lucy’s parents had remained so brave and dignified. It was the futility of someone dying so young that had torn through her; how parents coped with losing a child, she’d no idea. ‘At least it’s a fine day for it,’ her mother said.
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
Three more cars pulled in and parked, but the occupants were also unfamiliar. A few minutes later the cortège appeared and Mandy was grateful they hadn’t had to be part of it. Seeing the coffin was upsetting enough without having to journey behind it. The hearse drew slowly round and parked in front of the chapel, followed by the car with Gran, Evelyn and John. Mandy looked at the coffin, floating on a sea of flowers, and felt her eyes fill. Through the glass sides of the hearse the sun caught the brass handles of the coffin and they glinted in the light. On top of the coffin were three wreaths, one of which she knew was from her parents and her. The small groups of mourners who had been talking quietly were now silent and everyone was looking at the hearse. The pallbearers, in their tailed black suits, stepped from the front of the hearse and sedately put on their tall black hats. Her father raised the car windows, Mandy switched off her phone, and they got out.
John was helping Gran out of the car. Evelyn saw them and gave a little wave. Mandy felt the other mourners look at them as they made their way across the car park.
She kissed Gran first. ‘Hello, love,’ Gran said. She’d put on a little make-up – a touch of powder and lipstick – and Mandy’s heart went out to her. Dear Gran, so frail and sad, but wanting to look nice for her husband’s funeral. She hugged her and felt her thin shoulders beneath her coat.
‘You look very smart, Gran,’ she whispered.
‘So do you.’ She smiled. ‘Sarah and Simon are over there.’
Mandy looked over at the silver Mercedes sports which had followed in the cortège. Sarah and Simon were climbing out. As Gran began talking to her father Mandy went over to say hello. She wanted Sarah and Simon to see she wasn’t the hysterical wreck that had fled the house at their last meeting, and that there were no bad feelings. As usual they made a smart couple: Simon in a well-tailored grey suit and black tie and Sarah in a slim-fitting black dress and cardigan.
‘Hi, Mandy,’ Sarah said easily, air-kissing her. ‘You look well.’
‘Thank you. So do you.’
Simon shook her hand with more reserve. ‘Hello, Mandy.’
‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ Sarah confided. ‘I get so emotional at funerals. I can’t stop crying.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Mandy agreed. ‘Gran is being so brave.’
The three of them looked over to where Gran stood in the small circle talking with Evelyn, John, and Mandy’s parents.
‘Mandy,’ Sarah said, suddenly looking at her. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Yes?’ Mandy asked lightly, guessing she was about to hear another of Sarah’s dramatized tales, like the one she’d told about the mouse that had got into her beauty salon and wreaked havoc.
‘You weren’t the only one Jimmy attacked,’ Sarah said bluntly.
Mandy looked at her, astonished, and wondered what had brought this on. Simon was looking at Sarah too. ‘I know,’ Mandy said. ‘Didn’t your father tell you I went to see Natalie and Hannah?’
‘Yes. But I’m not talking about Hannah or her friend Katie.’
Mandy continued to look at Sarah, as Simon took her arm. Clearly he knew what she was about to say.
‘Mandy,’ Sarah said, her face strained and serious, ‘six months before Jimmy attacked you, he tried to do the same to me.’ Mandy stared at her and felt her legs tremble. ‘I didn’t tell anyone at the time. I was too scared they wouldn’t believe me. It seemed impossible – my own uncle! It was only after he attacked you I found the courage to tell Mum and Dad. I’m sorry, Mandy. If I’d spoken out it might have saved you.’
Mandy continued to stare at her. Simon was watching her carefully.
‘So that’s why you had all that therapy? Not because of Jimmy’s attack on me, but because he attacked you?’
‘Both, really. I was in a right state. I’m OK now. I felt so guilty. I knew if I’d spoken out there was a good chance you wouldn’t have suffered. I am so sorry, Mandy,’ she said again. ‘Can you forgive me?’
Mandy gave a small smile. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I understand why you didn’t report him – for the same reasons Hannah didn’t for all those years. Does your father know you’re telling me?’
Sarah nodded. ‘He said you should
know. There have been enough secrets in our family to last a lifetime.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
As Sarah reached out and hugged her, Mandy caught a glimpse of the person she’d once known – the open Sarah who’d been her best friend and with whom she’d shared everything.
‘Thanks for being so understanding, Mandy; I hope we can be friends again.’
‘So do I. Perhaps you and Simon would like to visit when Adam and I are in our new flat?’ She showed her the ring. Sarah gave a little squeal of delight and kissed her again.
The side door of the chapel opened and as they looked over, the mourners from the previous service begin to file out. ‘Shall we go and join your parents?’ Simon said.
Sarah linked his arm and Mandy walked beside them as they crossed the car park. Another car pulled in and Mandy saw Mrs Pryce sitting in the passenger seat.
‘Good,’ Evelyn said, ‘I’m pleased she felt able to come.’Then to Gran: ‘Mum, Mrs Pryce is here with her brother. I invited her. I know she always thought the world of you and Dad.’
‘She still does,’ Gran said dryly. ‘You know, we didn’t stop seeing each other just because you fired her.’
Mandy saw the look on Evelyn’s face and had to stifle a smile. ‘Behave, Gran,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll try. But your grandpa and I never did like funerals. He swore he’d never go to mine. Looks like he kept his promise, the old devil.’
Mandy smiled sadly and kissed Gran’s cheek again. Then an air of expectation descended as the pallbearers opened the rear of the hearse. Everyone stopped talking and the other mourners began slowly moving forward in their small groups towards the entrance of the chapel.
‘The other mourners go into the chapel first,’ her father explained to her. ‘As chief mourners we walk in a procession behind the coffin.’
Mandy nodded. They were silent as the rest of the congregation filed into the chapel. Then the pallbearers began slowly sliding the coffin out of the back of the hearse. Raising it on to their shoulders they waited at the entrance to the chapel. Mandy’s father linked Gran’s arm over his and took up position immediately behind the coffin. Evelyn linked John’s arm and stood behind them. Her mother and her were next, and then Sarah and Simon. Organ music drifted through the open door of the chapel; there was a brief pause, and the music rose a tone, signalling their entrance. Their procession began to move slowly forwards. Mandy looked at the coffin riding high in front, her eyes welled and her fingers closed around the tissue in her pocket.
Forty-Three
‘Please be seated,’ the Reverend said. He waited for absolute quiet before continuing. ‘We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of William Anthony Edwards. Born on 11 November 1922, he was the first child and only son of Emily and Wilfred Edwards. Despite a bout of scarlet fever which put the five-year-old William in hospital he grew into a fine and sturdy young man…’
Mandy looked at the Reverend standing behind the lectern as he continued with the tribute – the words of appreciation for Grandpa’s life. Then she looked over to the coffin and tried to rid her mind of the image of Grandpa as she had last seen him, emaciated and dependent on others. She tried to replace it with the image of the man the Reverend now spoke of; the man Grandpa had been before he’d fallen ill. The man who at the age of nineteen, the Reverend said, had been one of the first to sign up to fight for his country when war had broken out in 1939. The man who, not one to wait around, had quickly courted and married Lizzie, his childhood sweetheart, on returning home in 1946.
‘He was a successful businessman and proud,’ the Reverend was saying, coming up to date, ‘but kind, loving and loyal; a family man. The last time I saw William was when I visited him in hospital and he asked me to make special mention of his granddaughters, Sarah and Mandy.’ Mandy looked again at the Reverend and swallowed hard at the mention of her name. ‘In a society which doesn’t always value the family as much as it should,’ he continued. ‘it is heart-warming to learn of the special bond which developed between Grandpa, as he was affectionately known, and his granddaughters. His love for Sarah and Mandy was unreserved, as I know theirs was for him. Even when the girls were away at university they phoned and visited regularly just as they had always done. Sarah fondly remembers the afternoon not long ago when she taught her grandpa to use his new and highly sophisticated mobile phone, for he was quite determined modern technology wouldn’t leave him behind.’ A murmur of agreement ran through the congregation and Mandy smiled. ‘It was fitting, therefore,’ the Reverend continued, ‘given that special bond between him and his granddaughters, that when William’s life on earth was coming to its natural end one of his granddaughters, Mandy, should help nurse him. Indeed she was with him at the end.’ Mandy met the Reverend’s gaze and swallowed hard. ‘How lovely for a man who placed so much value on his family to leave this world surrounded by those he loved and cherished. I’m sure he knew his family were there, and appreciated it. It would have meant a lot to him in his final days to hear the voices of those he loved; to feel the warmth of their hands as they comforted and nursed him.’ The Reverend paused and looked first at Sarah and then at Mandy, addressing them personally: ‘I know how painful it is to lose a loved one, but please find comfort in the knowledge that your dear grandpa lives on in you both. Let us all now spend a few minutes in quiet reflection as we think of the life and lament the passing of William, beloved husband, father and grandpa.’
Mandy lowered her head and closed her eyes as the rest of the mourners were doing. She felt her tears run freely down her cheeks and drip unchecked on to her hand as she thought of Grandpa and all she had lost. Dear, dear Grandpa, I hope you know how much I love and respect you. Life isn’t the same without you; it never will be. I miss you dreadfully. I miss so many things about you. The sound of your voice on the phone when I called every Tuesday at 6 p.m. All those discussions we had that went on for ages, when Gran was so worried about my telephone bill she made you phone me back. If I was speaking to you this Tuesday I’d tell you about the ring Adam has given me and how we are moving in together. I know you’d be pleased.
I remember my visits to you, Grandpa – as a child with my parents, and then as I grew up, alone. You always greeted me in the hall with a big hug and the same words: ‘So what’s my little Mandy been up to? Come in and tell me all.’ I can hear you saying it now; I can still hear your voice, it’s very clear. And I remember how we’d sit together, either side of the hearth in winter, or beneath the apple tree in summer, and I’d tell you what I’d ‘been up to’. And you’d listen carefully and then advise me. Strange, I never minded you giving me the benefit of your advice, indeed I welcomed it, but for years if my parents tried to give me advice I rejected it out of hand. I guess that was part of the special bond you and I had. How I wish I still had it.
And I remember your wooden pipe which you kept polished on the mantelpiece although you hadn’t smoked for twenty years. I was intrigued by that pipe. As a child I used to put it in my mouth when you left the room and pretend I was smoking. I wonder if you ever knew? You never said if you did.
And the tie you always wore. Casual dress for you still meant a shirt and tie – even when you were pottering in the garden you wore a tie and your cap. It was always important for you to look smart, until the very end, when you were too ill and hadn’t the energy to dress, let alone wear a tie. When you lay in bed, often in pain, wanting to be at peace. And now you are, my Grandpa, at peace. I haven’t forgotten the promise I made when I knelt by your bed and stroked your hand, which was so thin and frail I thought it might break. I haven’t forgotten my promise and I will start tomorrow, I promise I will. I’ll make you proud of me, as I was of you.
‘Let us pray,’ the Reverend said, breaking gently into their thoughts. ‘The Lord’s Prayer. Our Father, who art in heaven…’ Mandy pulled a tissue from her pocket and quietly blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She could hear Sarah cry
ing further along the pew. Others were sniffing and blowing their noses too as they began quietly saying the Lord’s Prayer.
When they came to the end of the prayer everyone looked up and towards the front. The Reverend turned to the coffin and made the sign of the cross. There was silence as he began the Committal, the final words of the service: ‘Almighty God, our heavenly Father, we praise you for the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…’ Mandy braced herself for what was coming next. How could she bear saying her last goodbye? They stood as the organ began to play sombrely in the background. The large velvet curtains either side of the plinth on which the coffin rested moved slightly then slowly began to close; slowly, very slowly, as the Reverend spoke: ‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God…’The curtains drew steadily towards each other, relentless and unstoppable. Goodbye, Grandpa, thanks for everything you did for me. I won’t ever forget you. I love and miss you so very much.
The curtains closed, the coffin disappeared from view, and Mandy leant on the handrail and cried openly.
Forty-Four
She awoke with a start; her heart was racing and her senses were alert. Then she remembered where she was and that there was no need to be afraid. This panic on waking had begun soon after she’d remembered what had happened and continued since. It didn’t happen every morning, but was troubling enough to be one of the issues she was going to work on with her therapist.
With a small sigh of relief Mandy turned on to her side to look at the alarm clock: 6.35 a.m. She could hear water running in the bathroom. Shortly Adam would return to the bedroom and apologize for waking her, just as he did most weekday mornings. After five weeks of living together they’d fallen into a routine and the predictability gave her a warm glow; it made her feel safe and secure.
