Not What They Were Expecting

by Neal Doran

  There was a comparison that did not put the owners of newspapers in a favourable light, which raised a muted snort from Ben’s work colleagues, and James wondered if maybe his dad had a sense of irony and self-awareness he hadn’t really appreciated. The writing also had a youthfulness and passion that James hadn’t really appreciated at the time he’d been hoping for something a little more Super Mario-ish. He could see why Ben wanted him to read it. But then he thought he’d bet Orwell wasn’t close to getting behind on his mortgage and with a wife thirty-two weeks pregnant when he was extolling the virtues of being bottom of the pile.

  But still… It seemed that everything that annoyed him most about his dad when he’d been alive was making him miss him the most right now.

  He finished reading, and sat back down between Rebecca and Margaret. Rebecca gave his hand a squeeze and whispered ‘well done’ in his ear. The rest of the ceremony passed without James taking too much in. More was said by people he barely recognised from his father’s life. He really can’t have spent his whole life looking vaguely out of windows and doing the crossword. James felt a pain that he would never be able to ask him more about that. Tales from the Cryptic, he thought to himself. Jesus, his dad was going to haunt him through puns.

  Finally, it was over. Margaret got up and said a few words and James could tell she was struggling. There were no tears, no obvious signs of somebody trying to cope, but the references to the everyday sexism of the undertaker and pernicious presence of Christianity in a room intended to be used for all types of death ceremonies were half-hearted at best. He wasn’t sure if anyone else could tell, or maybe she was fine and it was just him, but he felt sure there was a conviction and a life missing from what she said. For the first time he could see his mother saying what she felt other people thought she would say, rather than what she wanted to say. It was very weird. And then the music started, and the coffin began sliding away.

  The second it first moved hit James in the gut. The casket, his dad, was rolling towards these two dark heavy curtains. It looked and worked like a supermarket till conveyor belt. He didn’t know what was behind the curtains but he couldn’t help but imagine it was a huge cave of flames, like some giant pizza oven. It was fucking barbaric. He was never being cremated. He wished the conveyor belt could be put into reverse, to slide back out of the darkness, and that life could keep rewinding, back out into the hearse, and keep going back until the night Ben died didn’t happen.

  Rebecca put an arm around his waist, and he leaned his cheek on the top of her head.

  He was never being cremated.

  Chapter 36

  Rebecca was doing her best to hide, or rather help, in the kitchen back at Margaret’s at the gathering after Ben’s funeral. Her mother-in-law had sidled up to her while she was doing some last minute vegetable chopping for dips and hugged her, leaving a hand on her belly.

  ‘Ben was so looking forward to this one,’ she’d said.

  ‘Really?’ Rebecca felt terrible for sounding so surprised at the idea that a man had been excited about the arrival of a first grandchild. It didn’t seem polite. Especially not at his funeral.

  ‘He thought it’d be a great opportunity to share some of the wisdom we’d gathered over the years, and in the time we’re going to have as we get older. He’d suggested that once he’d retired we could have taken the little one on their first visit to Addis Ababa.’

  Rebecca was touched and terrified at the idea that her in-laws would want to spend so much time with their grandchild, but she didn’t think she’d be leaving them unaccompanied in any place more exotic than the local Jungle Land indoor play area.

  ‘And it’s important to me too,’ said Maggie, ‘you couldn’t believe how much it means to have something to look forward to still, on a day like today.’

  There were unexpected tears in Rebecca’s eyes. In the moment of closeness, she thought for a second of asking Margaret about her doubts concerning James and what she should do.

  ‘And thank you for everything you did to get us here too,’ Margaret continued, before Rebecca could work up her courage. ‘I couldn’t have done it on my own. You can see why funerals are so much a community event in so many places, and frankly I was a bit surprised our neighbours were found so wanting.’

  ‘It can be tricky, knowing what to do for the best,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Fear of death looms large,’ said Margaret with an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows. ‘But you have a quiet strength. It reminds me of someone.’

  Rebecca hadn’t known what to say or do, and settled for a heartfelt ‘well…’

  Maggie tied back her hair, and produced a tray of dips from under a tea towel on a workbench that Rebecca thought really needed a good bleaching.

  ‘Now I can take it from here,’ declared Maggie. ‘An evolved life starts now. Although you can get that son of mine in here to help with this. He knows better than to leave the hospitality chores to the women.’

  With that she was gone, as the first carloads of people came through the door.

  Looking around at the people at Ben’s after-funeral gathering, Rebecca noticed that Ben and Margaret were a bit weird even for their social circle. Aside from a couple of older blokes in bedraggled suits with thinning hair that looked like any life it had left in it was applied to resisting the order of a comb, nearly everybody looked like your average late middle-aged couple, like her mum and dad. She thought she spotted someone that looked familiar. From the TV maybe. She could imagine him ending everything he said as if he was expecting a round of applause, and guessed he must have been a politician she’d seen on Question Time.

  Then she heard a barked laugh above the quiet hum of people remarking on the buffet and whether the weather was good for a funeral. It was her dad. She’d been dreading this moment even more than the funeral. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, or spoken to him since she’d had the visit from the journalist.

  Rebecca hated occasions like this, feeling even less comfortable in a crowd than usual. Did you smile at a funeral? You did, but how much? You needed to be friendly, but not too happy. She found herself contorting her face from a smile to a bit of a sad face, and then having to beam again as people commented on her enormous belly. But then, at least Bomp was something to talk about. She’d felt a bit awkward too, almost insensitive, walking around with this exhibit for new life at a time when everyone was marking the end of one. But at least that conversation in the kitchen had been another one of her moments with Margaret that were as sweet as they were confusing.

  Rebecca could see James greeting people as they came in. Confident hugs and handshakes, and patient acceptance of compliments about his dad as he waited for coats, and steered people towards drinks. She knew he didn’t like this stuff, but he could really do it. She, meanwhile, felt much more comfortable in the kitchen, getting things prepared and avoiding the small talk. And wiping down surfaces that really needed it. But she knew she couldn’t stay there forever and headed out to the living room to mingle, with a glass of orange juice that she knew straight away was going to cause heartburn. Never before had she quite so wanted a warm glass of ethically sourced, but incompetently made white wine, but being the drunk heavily-pregnant woman at her father-in-law’s funeral didn’t sound the greatest idea. She wished she’d worn better shoes too. She hadn’t taken into account what a long day with so much standing a funeral could turn out to be. It was getting worse than a wedding.

  ‘I see Margaret went all out to get the place spick and span for the gathering,’ said Howard in as close as he usually got to a quiet voice as he joined his daughter.

  ‘I’d say she’s had more important things on her mind than tidying up over the past week,’ she said, although she’d just seconds before been marvelling at the old newspapers still left stacked against the wall, and what looked like a basket of clothes left in a corner as furniture had been pushed back to let people mingle. Still, she wasn’t going to agree with him.

  �
�Becky dear,’ he continued, ‘we need to have a chat about the trial.’

  ‘I don’t think this is the place.’

  ‘Just a few dates and times, my brief wants a quick chat beforehand.’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it, Dad.’ Rebecca felt herself get as angry as she could allow herself to be in the circumstances.

  ‘It’s just some admin-y things. There’s no sense burying your head in the sand, you know.’

  That was enough to flick a switch for her. He was right of course, but he had no idea why. Time to put that right.

  ‘OK, fine,’ she snapped, ‘we’ll go into Ben’s office, on the left just before the garden.’

  They headed through the crowd from the front living room towards the back of the ramshackle Victorian house, Rebecca smile-frown-smiling at everyone, Howard walking behind greeting them with a too-cheerful ‘lovely service’.

  ‘Shadow Business Minister over there. Blinking unreformed Trotskyite. I’ve a mind to go over and ask him when did they start teaching Marx at the bloody expensive private school his parents sent him to.’

  ‘Do you want to talk to me or not?’

  ‘Fine. Fine. I’ll get him later. Met his father a couple of times actually. Decent bloke. For a lefty.’

  They slid into the tiny dark study next to the garden, which Rebecca always thought would be much better used as part of an open-plan kitchen/diner. As the only place in the house Ben could have sneaked a cigarette, it would probably need to be fumigated to clear the smell of smoke, though. For a second Rebecca had to take some deep breaths through her mouth to calm her currently hair-trigger retch reflex. She couldn’t imagine her mother letting part of their house get like this.

  ‘Christ, she really had made an effort to clean up out there if this dump’s anything to go by,’ said Howard.

  ‘So what is it you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Straight down to business, eh? OK then. So, you know the trial’s set for the end of next month, but Maplestone wants to get you in to speak to this lawyer he’s got in to represent me in court. Not a proper barrister, but he tells me he’s the best for dealing with this sort of scrap in a local court. Now we were thinking, maybe Wednesday then after that you could come ba—’

  ‘I’m not doing it,’ Rebecca announced. She was a bit surprised at herself, but when she said it out loud, she finally knew she was doing the right thing.

  ‘Well if Wednesday’s no good, we could schedule—’

  ‘The whole trial and witness thing. I’m not going to stand up and lie for you.’

  ‘This again, darling? It’s not lying, it’s just a means of getting pertinent information into the proceedings that wouldn’t be possible otherwise. It’s an essential part of the case we’ve put together.’

  ‘I had a visit from a journalist.’

  ‘Is that what it is? Freaked you out, eh? I know you don’t want any publicity, and not once have I asked you to appear in public on my behalf. We’ll keep to that.’

  ‘He told me about Manchester. And Edinburgh.’

  Rebecca watched her dad react. His eyes flickered up to the left. She knew that meant something, but couldn’t remember what.

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘Lying about what, Dad?’

  ‘Well, bup…he…he probably made up something scurrilous to unsettle you into blabbing something else about our personal lives. Oldest trick in the book.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything to him did you?’ Howard continued.

  ‘Threw him out of the house.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  She could see her father’s shoulders relax.

  ‘But I believe him.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Believe him about what?’

  Howard wasn’t going to get caught assuming he knew what the journalist was talking about twice.

  ‘About the other places.’

  ‘Other places.’

  ‘Ah Jesus, don’t make me say it, Dad. I know.’

  ‘It’s all just a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘They can’t talk about it during the trial,’ he said softly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It would be prejudicial, and irrelevant, as long as I’m careful about my good character. You should know this, it’s standard practice. I’m beginning to worry about all that money we spent on law school.’

  Rebecca couldn’t speak at first. The level of duplicity was staggering to her. And what was this? An admission? It was too much to take in. But it didn’t make a difference to her resolve.

  ‘I’m not doing it.’

  ‘Darling…’

  ‘Do you realise what that could do to my career?’ Rebecca was angry now, and for once didn’t even need to think about what she was going to say before she said it. She was going to let him have it.

  ‘It wouldn’t be a career, it’d be a former career. I’d be fired, thrown out of the profession. I could end up in jail! I could have a baby and end up in jail. I cannot believe we’re even having this conversation.’

  ‘They’re not going to put a decent young mother like you in prison.’

  ‘What, because things like that don’t happen to people like us?’

  ‘Don’t start going all lefty on me again, dear. You’re not a teenager any more.’

  ‘And I’m not going to lie to Mum any more. Or to James. He’s been defending you too you know.’

  As he finally realised Rebecca was going to stand by what she said, Howard’s face went red, and his voice took on a low, tight tone, his anger rising to match his daughter’s.

  ‘I cannot believe what an uncaring, snide, sanctimonious bitch you’ve grown up to be. How can you do this to your family? You’re going to ruin me, our family business, and break your mother’s heart. You’re such an…such an ungrateful child. I did everything I could for you when you were growing up—’

  ‘You were a parent! That was your job.’

  ‘And didn’t I do that? Didn’t you get everything you wanted? Fucking little madam you could be at times too.’

  ‘How would you know? You were never there.’

  ‘Yes, well. If we’re being honest now then I can say I’d wanted a boy.’

  ‘Well, some things don’t change.’

  ‘I am not a queer!’

  ‘Stop trying to fuck them then!’

  The loudness of their voices seemed to register with both of them, and they watched each other, quietly seething. Howard was the first to gather himself, and he pointed to the study door.

  ‘There’s people mourning the death of a man out there. My age. A father. And you can still do this. My case collapses now, and it’s too late to change anything because of your dithering, selfish cowardice. I’m ashamed of you.’

  ‘I blame the way I was raised.’

  Howard, grabbed the door handle, and without another word was gone, slamming the door shut behind him. Rebecca sat down, stunned and shaking. She could feel Bomp kicking and squirming away. At least someone was enjoying the adrenaline rush. Her feelings were all over the place, but the main sense she had was one of relief. She’d done it. She’d stood up for herself. But she’d said such horrible things to her dad. Guilt was coming in a close second.

  A little while later, when she re-emerged into the gathering, she saw her dad and mum saying goodbye to Maggie. Watching them now, you couldn’t have imagined barely ten minutes ago she and her dad had had the biggest row of their lives. It was as if nothing had happened. After a lot of sympathetic head nodding, and what she could tell from a distance was him doling out ‘life goes on’ platitudes, her parents headed for the door. Howard paused briefly to make a joshing finger-wagging point to the shadow minister, and was gone. They hadn’t even tried to find her to say goodbye.

  ‘There you are,’ said James, walking up behind her and putting his arms around her shoulders. ‘You missed the fun. There was a big bonfire of Ben’s clothes, and old comple
ted crossword books and shit. All that was missing was some fireworks.’

  Rebecca thought about the fireworks there’d been in Ben’s old room, and wondered how she could tell him.

  ‘I hope she didn’t torch his collection of ethically sourced porn,’ mused James.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked.

  ‘For a day when I’ve cremated my dad and seen my mother display keening and mourning traditions from around the globe in front of forty baffled middle-aged people? Not too bad, actually. You?’

  ‘Shattered.’

  ‘Good of your folks to come.’

  ‘Hn,’ Rebecca grunted. ‘I spoke to dad about the trial. Told him I wouldn’t appear as a witness, it’s all too near to the due date.’

  ‘Really? Will they be OK with just a written statement in the circumstances?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. I think that…that the lawyers wanted me to say more than what had happened when I’d spoken to Dad. And I think the timing was a little confused too, which meant it wasn’t really helpful for the case anyway.’

  She could feel him studying her face.

  ‘OK,’ he said with a smile she couldn’t quite interpret.

  ‘It’ll be his word against the police, now. Which…’ She couldn’t speak any more. Her throat constricted as she felt a wave of guilt at the likely result of her decision. It was crazy. She shouldn’t be feeling bad for refusing to lie. For protecting herself and her child.

  ‘You should go home,’ James said, giving her shoulders a rub. ‘I’ll see the stragglers off, help Maggie clean up and see that she’s OK, and get back later. You two need your rest.’

  ‘Are you sure? Are you OK? I shouldn’t go, I should be here.’

  ‘We’ll be fine. Bompalomp’s the priority. Don’t let her hear it, but it’d be good to spend some time with Maggie.’

  As they spoke, Margaret walked by them, chatting to someone related to James, although Rebecca wasn’t sure who or how.

  ‘Of course the next big event in this house will be the naming ceremony for our grandchild,’ they heard her say as she passed. ‘You must come back for that. Happier times.’