by JD Nixon
I didn’t spend too much money on the cinched-waist shift dress and court shoes I bought, knowing I’d never want to wear them again.
The day before the funeral was a flurry of baking. While I cleaned the house to Mum’s exacting standards, she began preparing food for the wake. She’d insisted on holding it in her house, rather than in the church hall as Brian suggested. It would be a squeeze, especially if everyone came here from the church. The food would be simple – small cakes and sandwiches.
The day of the funeral was contrarily bright and sunny. It didn’t seem right to me to hold such a sad, solemn ceremony in such delightful weather. It should have been cold, rainy and miserable. The house smelled strongly of competing blossoms from the wreaths and bouquets delivered, even though the funeral announcement had specified donations to Dad’s charity in lieu of flowers.
I’d agonised over my little eulogy, worried I’d mess it up in front of so many people. Brian and Sean’s eulogies would be assured and delivered with confidence. Both were used to speaking in public, Brian taking the occasional media conference, Sean leading group fitness sessions. I’d sweated over every word in it, wanting to find exactly the right phrases to express my deep love for my father, and to make my family proud.
Dressed in black and standing at the entry to the church to greet everyone as they entered made everything seem so much more real. The last days had been frantic preparing for the funeral, but now it was time to be confronted again by our huge loss.
The Reverend, a now elderly man, had led the St John’s congregation ever since I could remember, being around long enough to have even married Mum and Dad. He creakily ascended the steps to his pulpit, carefully holding on to the rail. In his rich, redolent voice, he delivered a thoughtful speech about Dad, who he described as a quietly accomplished family man. It was difficult for me to think of him as someone with a career, friends and hobbies separate from his family, instead of just being my father, one of the rocks in my life.
Watching Sean and Elise, and Brian and Gayle, I felt lonely by myself. I wanted Heller to be here with me, disappointed that once again, when I needed him he wasn’t around. Would he ever be?
A warm hand slipping into mine took me by surprise. I glanced sideways to see Daniel’s much-loved face and warm brown eyes. He’d dressed in a sombre dark grey suit and black tie. I entwined my fingers with his, grateful to have someone there to support me.
“Thank you, Danny,” I whispered. “But how did you know? I didn’t tell anyone.”
“I’m smart like that. Good at ferreting out information. I’m really sorry about your father, Tilly. You must be devastated.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek, drawing the curious attention of my family. I’d never introduced Daniel to them, keeping most of my Warehouse activities to myself.
After a hauntingly poignant hymn, it was time for the eulogies. As I’d thought, Brian and Sean delivered theirs with quiet confidence. My turn came, and I nervously approached the pulpit, my heart fluttering with anxiety. Please don’t let me flake, please don’t let me flake, I begged silently.
I began hesitantly, tears running down my face before I’d even finished the first sentence. I gaped at the congregation, stricken with fear and feeling a dread of utterly failing at something in public. Seriously considering throwing my notes away and fleeing in embarrassment, I looked out again at the expectant faces, seeing nothing but sympathy and compassion. My family nodded their heads in encouragement, almost willing me to succeed.
But it was Daniel’s soulful brown eyes that sealed it for me. He’d been brave enough to appear in public to support me, so the least I could do in return was to honour the memory of a man I’d loved so much. I drew in a deep breath, steadied my voice, and read the rest of my eulogy. When I stepped down, I truly believed I’d done justice to Dad.
Quite a few other people also wished to speak of him. It was really touching to hear their lovely comments of praise, fond remembrances and funny stories about him, most of which I’d never heard before.
After the ceremony, the Reverend thanked everyone at the door, reminding them of the wake. When it came my time to greet him, he clasped my hand, remarking with a lift of one shaggy, white eyebrow, “Well, if it isn’t young Tilly Chalmers. I haven’t seen you in church for a quite a long time.”
I said some uncomfortable, unconvincing words about work and long, busy hours.
“God works long, busy hours too, but always has time to welcome you to his place of worship and to hear your prayers, young lady.”
I smiled weakly, edging away from him, muttering something about taking Mum home to prepare for the wake. I joined Mum to watch Brian and Sean, two of Dad’s cousins and a couple of his closest friends, carry his coffin to the hearse waiting to transport him to the crematorium.
Tearful again myself seeing that coffin disappearing from view behind the closing doors of the hearse, I ushered an equally tearful Mum towards my car. I asked Daniel whether he wished to join us, unsure he’d want to subject himself to scrutiny from strangers. I suspected some of my relatives would be quite curious about him after hearing from Mum all about my tall, blond, beautiful boyfriend.
He thought for a moment, wavering between wanting to be there for me and not wanting to attract any attention to himself.
I clasped his hand. “They don’t bite, Danny, honestly. And you can stick to me like glue.”
“I could be your little helper,” he half-smiled.
So few people would ever appreciate his sacrifice in doing this for me. He showed his anxiety, his fingers almost compulsively darting to his cheek to touch his terrible scar. I hugged him, fondly flicking some hair from his face and capturing his hand to stop him reaching for his scar.
“I kinda lied before,” I confessed. He raised an eyebrow. “Great-Uncle Donald does bite, but he doesn’t have any teeth, so it’s not too bad.”
He rewarded me with a wider smile and I was satisfied with that.
Chapter 23
As it turned out, Daniel had no time to be nervous as we were rushed off our feet, making beverages and handing out cakes and sandwiches. In between serving food, I was on Puddles watch, making sure he didn’t ‘christen’ the shoes of any of our visitors.
Both Elise and Gayle had to sit down after a while, finding the effort too strenuous for their pregnant bodies, Mum, Brian and Sean fully occupied mingling with our guests. So while Daniel took over the beverage station, I hustled my butt around the house offering plates of food.
At the end of the wake, Brian produced a couple of bottles of very nice brandy inviting those who wished to celebrate a toast to the memory of Dad. I choked down the fiery liquid, bringing on a coughing fit only cured by drinking a full glass of water. The members of Dad’s golf club planned a memorial dinner in his honour tonight, and I imagined more than a few of them would wake up with a sore head tomorrow morning.
By the time the last lingering guest was politely persuaded to leave and the house was left in pristine order again, we were all knackered. Mum lay down for a while in her room, Gayle and Elise rested in my brothers’ old bedrooms, and Brian and Sean watched some sport on TV, babysitting Brian’s two girls.
Daniel and I sat on my bed chatting about nothing much. I’d introduced him to everyone as my friend, not offering any further information about him. Because of the circumstances my family had been polite enough not to probe deeper into our relationship. Daniel didn’t say, but I thought he found their easy acceptance of him not something he’d experienced often in his life. I felt confident he’d be much less hesitant to come around with me in the future.
I saw him to the door when darkness fell, waving to him as he drove off. I joined Brian and Sean, trying to muster up some energy from the dark corners of my body to gently roughhouse with my nieces. They’d behaved themselves so well all day, but were now ready to let off a bit of steam, just as we adults were thinking of going to bed early.
Brian stepped in when they became a
little too rowdy, both of the girls taking turns to belly slam me as I lay curled up in a defensive position on the carpet, wondering how it had got to this point. He bathed them and fed them, Gayle now awake to read them a story and put them to bed.
I pecked on a leftover sandwich, hitting the sack at eight. I woke just after midnight, spending a long time thinking about the funeral, and an even longer time thinking about Heller and my future. Did I have a future with him? I barely felt like I had a present with him, let alone a future.
I kept dwelling on the notion that with the passing of my father came a passing of a stage in my life that I’d wallowed in for far too long. Perhaps it was time for me to grow up, plan some goals. Maybe I needed to forge out a clearer direction for my life, instead of just going with the flow all the time.
With these thoughts swirling around my head, I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I tiptoed to the kitchen to fetch a glass of cold milk. I took it into the lounge room, thinking I’d watch a bit of boring late night TV to relax me.
“Tilly,” said a voice in the darkness, the face eerily illuminated by the glow of the TV. I thought it was Dad for a second, shrieking and spilling some of my milk down my pyjamas.
“Brian!” I scolded. “You scared the shit out of me.” I returned to the kitchen to mop up the spill off my pyjama top with paper towel.
“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either.” I sat next to him on the lounge. “You really looked like Dad for a second then.” I placed my hand on my chest, my heart still thumping. “God, that totally freaked me out.”
“Did I really? He was a handsome man, even as he got older, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I probably hadn’t paid much attention to Brian’s looks, but now I thought about it, I could see a lot of resemblance between Dad and him. They had the same coloured-eyes, same chin, same kink in their hair at the back, same build, though Brian worked out more. I suppose that meant I looked like my Dad too, because I’d always thought Brian and I shared a lot of similarities in our looks. It was kind of a comforting thought that Dad’s genes would be carried on, though in my case, no further than me.
“It was a good funeral, as far as funerals go,” I said, yawning hard.
That made him yawn too, even harder than me. “Yeah, I was pleased with how it went. And I thought your eulogy was very touching. Straight from the heart.”
“Yours was better.”
“Nah. Mine was a bit too cold fish. I find it hard not to write like that these days, after so many police reports.”
“You did a great job. Did you decide to stay over tonight?”
“Yeah. Gayle and the kids fell asleep after dinner, so it was just easier to stay, seeing tomorrow’s my last day of leave. Elise and Sean stayed over too. I thought it would be nice to have a big family breakfast in the morning. It’s been a while since we’ve done that. Maybe too long.”
We both thought of how of our family had now been diminished by one.
“It would be nice. And it’s lucky Mum and Dad replaced your single beds with queen-sized ones – more comfortable than the four of you trying to squeeze into a single. I wonder why they didn’t replace mine?”
“Didn’t want their precious daughter bringing home guys to sleep with, I suppose.”
“Ha! As if I would with my parents around. Though there were a few times when they weren’t . . .”
“No! You didn’t? In Mum and Dad’s house?”
“I did. God, don’t tell Mum, whatever you do. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. I might have been a little casual with the truth with them about my girlfriends visiting too.”
“Ha! I bet Sean was worse than both of us. He always had so many girls hanging off him.”
“Yeah, lucky bastard.”
I blew him a rude raspberry. “You didn’t do too badly, if I recall correctly.”
“Anyway, speaking of boyfriends . . .”
“Which we weren’t.”
“So, Daniel?”
“Yes, Daniel.”
“Just a friend?”
“No, not just a friend. He’s a very close, dear friend. One of the sweetest men I’ve ever been lucky enough to meet.”
“You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“I don’t mention my friends very much at all. Do you hear me talking about Dixie much?”
“I can understand you not talking about Dixie. Her exploits are rather notorious. She’s lucky no guy’s ever reported her to the police.”
“She’s not being notorious lately. In fact, she’s fallen head over heels for someone I think is playing her for a sucker.”
“No way! Dixie falling for someone? And a player at that?” He laughed unkindly. “It’s kind of poetic justice in a way.”
“Brian! That’s not very nice of you. I’m worried about her. She’s my friend.”
“Maybe she needs a good dose of heartbreak to open her eyes about how she exploits men.”
“You’re so hard.”
“You have to be to survive in my job. But anyway, speaking of boyfriends . . .”
“Which, again, we weren’t,” I snapped.
“How’s the fling going with Heller?”
“It’s not a fling,” I said hotly. He was being deliberately provocative, something which reminded me of my childhood. He’d rile me up so much I’d start punching him in frustration at not being as clever as him at twisting words. At that stage he’d call Mum and Dad and I’d be punished. Stupidly, I fell for it every time.
“Does that mean wedding bells in the future?”
“Marriage isn’t the be-all and end-all of every relationship, you know,” I said, slightly defensive.
“It is for long-term committed relationships.”
“That’s rubbish. Stop being so old-fashioned. Lots of couples have long-term, committed relationships without ever getting married.”
“Lots of studies shows that marriage makes people happier.”
“How do you explain the high divorce rate then? A lot of people clearly aren’t happy being married. Better to be in a happy de facto relationship than an unhappy marriage.”
“Maybe, but nothing beats a happy marriage,” he said smugly.
I could have rubbed his nose in the sorry memory of Gayle’s sordid one-nighter with Heller that temporarily broke up their marriage, but I didn’t, no matter how snotty he was being. Instead I said, “I’m going to bed,” leaving him behind in the dark, wondering if we could ever have a conversation that didn’t descend into some kind of argument.
Everyone was already awake and bustling around when I woke up the next morning. I tousled my nieces’ hair, kissed Mum on the cheek, and said a vague “good morning” to everyone else. I eased myself into a chair squeezed between Sean and Mum. I piled my plate high with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and toast, filling my huge mug with coffee. My ravenous hunger astonished me, but I still managed to slip Puddles some bacon under the table. When he waddled out from under the tablecloth and promptly fell asleep in an uncomfortable position across a pair of Brian’s shoes, I suspected I hadn’t been the only one giving him a covert feed.
Conversation was general and light, but there was an undercurrent of sadness every time one of us looked at the chair Dad had habitually sat in, now sadly vacant. It was going to take an age to get used to the idea of him not being here with us.
I spent the next couple of days with Mum, helping her with the thank yous, and answering all the cards and emails we’d received from people who hadn’t been able to make it to the funeral. That took an entire day.
Returning to the Warehouse made me nervous, not wanting to confront Clive again. I made it to my flat without meeting anyone, but I’d hardly had time to put down my handbag and overnight bag when someone knocked on my door. What I wouldn’t do for some personal privacy in this place, I thought sourly, opening the door to Clive.
“Have you been lurkin
g near my flat waiting to intercept me the very second I stepped inside?” I asked with a bit of attitude.
“We need to talk. Can I come in?”
“S’pose,” I said with a distinct lack of graciousness. I turned my back on him to dump my handbag in its usual place on my kitchen bench and my overnight bag in my bedroom. “What do we have to talk about? I’m not going to listen to anything more you say about that stupid woman, so you might as well save your breath.”
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Definitely no privacy in this building. I’d deliberately not told anyone here, because I didn’t want to share my family or their grief with them. “How did you know?”
“Daniel told me where he was going.”
“Oh.” I added reluctantly, “Thank you.”
“Did it happen that night we had that . . . er . . . discussion on the landing?”
Discussion? “Yes.”
“I regret getting in your face that night. I was insensitive in my timing and I apologise for that.”
What the . . .? Clive apologising to me again? Clive admitting to being insensitive without me holding him in a vicious nipple grip? What was the world coming to? Next he’d be asking to friend me on Facebook and suggesting we do each other’s hair on Friday nights.
“I hated my father with every fibre of my being and I celebrated by getting rat-arsed drunk when word reached Sid and me that he finally died. But I understand that not everyone feels that way about their father.”
“No, they don’t. I loved Dad very much. He was a wonderful man,” I said, tearful again. He squirmed with discomfort.
“Are you up to doing another job yet?” he blurted out.
I shrugged one shoulder with indifference. Nothing much interested me at the moment. “S’pose. I’m not doing anything else.”
