by Monica Ali
‘No, that pincushion,’ said Gabriel, ‘I think I …’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. No, nothing. It’s nice that she …’
‘… kept it. I know. I was really pleased.’
They were quiet for a while.
‘Don’t know what to do with half the stuff, that’s the problem. Don’t want to keep it, don’t want to throw it out. What about Dad’s ships, Gabe? What’ll I do with them?’
‘I’ll have them.’
‘There’s quite a few.’
‘I’ll find room. My flat’s pretty empty.’
‘With Lena gone. Think she’ll ever be in touch?’
Gabriel shook his head. ‘Jenny, I don’t know what you must think of me, hearing all of that.’
Jenny put her feet down, sat up and rapped him on the knee with her knuckles. ‘I’d give you a hard time, Gabriel Lightfoot, if you hadn’t already done it yourself. Only reason I’m not – you’ve made a right thorough job of it.’
‘I’d like to think she’d call if she needed … but realistically, no, she won’t.’
Jenny rearranged the black folds of her new svengali garb. ‘There’s someone who might be calling you, though. Spoke to Charlie last night.’
‘You spoke to Charlie? You rang her? How did you get her number? What did she say?’
‘Remembered the name of the place where she sings, you told me, and Harley looked it up on the internet.’
‘You called her at the Penguin? What did she say?’
‘She sounded lovely,’ said Jenny. ‘Told her about Dad, of course, that’s why I rang, thought she should know.’
‘But what did she say?’
‘Said she’d call you. Said she’d do it today.’
‘She won’t,’ said Gabriel. ‘Why should she? She won’t call.’
Jenny sighed. She made as if to get up but then sank back in the chair. ‘It was a nice service, wasn’t it?’
They’d had this conversation several times today. It had become a kind of litany.
‘Yes. It was very nice.’
‘Everyone came.’
‘Lot of people.’
‘Good turnout.’
There was something he’d been wanting to ask her. ‘Did … did Dad want it in the church … did you …?’
‘Talk about it, yes. He did.’
‘But he didn’t go. Not since we were little, dragged us to Sunday School anyway, I can’t remember when.’
‘No,’ said Jenny. ‘Gabe – did you pray?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Me too. Do you believe?’
‘No. Do you?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe,’ said Gabriel. ‘But I have faith, if you know what I mean.’
‘What in?’
‘I don’t know. Life. Carrying on, I suppose.’
‘Yes.’
‘Jenny, I know I’ve been a bit wrapped up in myself recently, but …’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ interrupted Jenny.
‘No, I have.’
‘I wouldn’t say recently.’ She gave him a sideways look. ‘I’d say about the last thirty years.’ She giggled and then gave way to a screech, and she laughed so hard she threw up her hands and slapped them down on her thighs, riding a roller coaster, and Gabriel joined her and they sat and laughed like little children with tears pouring down their cheeks.
Gabriel waved Jenny off as she reversed out of the drive, and then went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge. Aside from the clingfilm-wrapped sandwiches left over from yesterday’s funeral tea, there wasn’t much in it, a couple of chicken breasts, some salami, a jar of pesto, a few tomatoes. He gathered all the vegetables from the basket and assembled them on a cutting board. He laid out the contents of the fridge, and lined up some tins which he took from the cupboard. He thought a bit. He felt like cooking, but he didn’t know what to make. Not the most promising of ingredients but give him a minute and he’d come up with an idea. Yes, he thought, having a glimmer, he could make something out of this.
His mobile rang. ‘Charlie,’ he said, ‘I didn’t tell her to call you. She got your number off the internet.’
‘I’m glad she did. Gabriel, I’m really sorry. Sorry to hear about your dad.’
‘Thanks,’ said Gabe. ‘It was a lovely funeral.’
‘I’m sorry I never met him.’
‘I’m sorry too.’
It was his turn to speak but Gabriel couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes closed.
‘Gabriel,’ said Charlie, ‘how are you? I’ve been so worried about you.’
‘About me?’
‘Yes, you, you twit. You were behaving like a lunatic the last time you came round.’
Gabriel saw Charlie as clearly as if she were standing next to him, the curve of her hip, the roll of her shoulder, the way her green eyes danced over his face. ‘Think I blew a gasket or something. Sorry.’
‘I’ve got a spare fuse in the drawer.’
‘Charlie …’
‘Look, when you’re back, maybe we should get together for lunch.’
‘I’d love that.’
‘Only lunch, Gabriel. Only lunch.’
‘A dry crust is fine for me.’
He felt the touch of her breath down the phone.
‘What I’m saying, Gabriel, is don’t go getting your hopes up.’
‘Oh, I won’t. I promise. I’ll try not to,’ he said, in all earnestness and with a great deal of hope in his heart.
THE END
