In exasperation, Helen gave up. Leaving Chance happily chewing on his shoes, she went to get dressed. She suddenly wished she’d asked the lady at the shop for advice for herself as well. Having never actually been to a funeral, she was a little unsure of what to wear. She’d seen enough on television to know that everyone always dressed in a very drab way. But black was not exactly her style. It was a testament to her new philosophy on life that she had not rushed out to buy a new outfit. No. It was important now to be financially responsible, so she would make-do. As she suspected, an inspection of her wardrobe revealed nothing in black. But she did have a halter-neck dress in a quite deep shade of purple. It was almost black really, and it wasn’t at all tarty, as it was satin-lined and not too short. Settling on this, she then chose black stockings and black stilettos. A large, black, velvet ribboned clasp held her luxuriant, blonde hair up in a deft French twist. Looking in the mirror, she was pleased with the effect. Her bruised and swollen face had subsided substantially in the last few days. A quick trip to the emergency room revealed, after an X-ray, that her cheek-bone was indeed fractured, but would require no treatment other than rest and analgesics for the soreness. Hopefully, as long as she plastered on the make-up, her injuries would go unnoticed.
Despite their recent problems, Helen’s grief for Mark was very real. His death represented every abandonment by so many other males in her life. What was different this time was her reaction. For the first time she had a child to consider. What if she didn’t depend on somebody else this time? What if she depended on herself? It occurred to her that her own mother had never even seen Chance. She could go to Sydney, and her baby could meet his grandmother. Compared to Vanessa, her own mother wasn’t all that bad really, and if the truth be known, would probably go potty over her first grandchild. Things would be tight of course. The house was mortgaged to the hilt, thanks to her own stupidity in trusting Konrad. On its sale, she’d receive next to nothing. A quick conference with her newly hired lawyer informed her that since she wasn’t married to Mark, the estate and life insurance went directly to Beth. She could contest, of course, but it would take some time. Apparently there was also an action in restitution available to her against Konrad. But she would have to find him first. Once again, she was looking a long way down the track.
So what if she did stand on her own two feet? The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Fuck Jason. Fuck Konrad. For all she knew, they conspired together to rip her off. After all, they both disappeared at about the same time. She could expect short shrift from Vanessa. Unfortunately, her gambling had lost her any of the other so-called friends she used to have. There really was nothing for her in this town. Except for Beth – she was the only one to support her through all this.
She imagined that Beth would thoroughly approve of this whole independence thing. Feeling in a more positive frame of mind, she collected Chance and left for the church.
Mark inspected Jason’s wardrobe, wondering what to wear. The previous morning he’d visited a local costume shop and purchased a blonde wig and matching false beard. He then spent most of the rest of the day practising how to put them on, and perfecting his look. He was quite pleased with the result. Now he needed to choose clothes. Mark decided against going formally. If he actually stood in the body of the church, it was likely that he’d be recognised, despite the masquerade. So he opted for a different plan. Selecting a pair of track pants, a T-shirt and hooded jumper, he tried them on. Good. They fitted well enough. He tried on a pair of Jason’s joggers. A little big, but not too bad. Even to the practical Mark, it felt very creepy to be walking around in a dead man’s shoes. He tried, rather unsuccessfully, not to think about it.
Mark knew the church. It was a very large one, practically a mini cathedral. Trust his mother to make an event out of this. The doorway was almost on the street. His plan was to casually jog up to the doors and stand just within the entrance at the back of the church. Not far enough in to attract much attention, but close enough to hear the service and observe the guests. The hood of his sweater would further obscure his identity. He raised the window shutters a little and saw gathering storm clouds. Good. Rain would give him an excuse for wearing a jumper on a summer’s day. He traded his own expensive watch for a sports watch he found in the bedroom. A bum bag with a water bottle, dark sunglasses, and an Ipod with headphones completed the picture. Looking in the mirror he barely recognised himself. Protected by the guise of the anonymous jogger, he finally felt ready to leave. Taking Jason’s car he drove to the church, full of nervous anticipation. It would be wonderful to see Beth and his children again, even though he could not yet reveal himself to them. Mark was almost beginning to enjoy himself. After all, how many people got to check-out their own funeral?
CHAPTER 31
Festoons of flowers decorated the interior of the chapel. As the mourners filed slowly in they added their own floral tributes, placing them on a raised dais before the pulpit. A pipe organ played the Twenty–third Psalm, as sombre-faced men in black suits guided people to their seats. It was a full house. Dozens of relatives from both sides of the family were in attendance. All of the partners and work colleagues from Mark’s accounting firm were there, along with various members of the profession. How soon we forget, thought Mark bitterly, as he peered curiously at the crowd from the church door. Only a few, short days ago, these same colleagues seemed ready to throw him to the wolves. People were still arriving, so he decided to go for a jog around the block until the service began. Further ahead of him down the street, he saw Beth’s car drive in and park. There was nothing for it but to jog by, and hope to remain unnoticed. He passed within a few feet of his family. As Beth got out of the car, he was struck by her style and beauty. How he longed to be with her. Rick turned and stared after him as he ran down the street.
“Come on, Rick.” Said Beth, “This way.”
The boy trailed after his mother, still turning occasionally to watch as the jogger receded into the distance.
Sarah was already crying softly. Looking at her mother, she envied her the little veil, perfect for hiding eyes red with weeping. If only she was more like Rick. He didn’t seem sad at all. As they neared the church they saw Helen and Chance approaching from the opposite direction. Sarah ran off to meet them. Her mother watched as Helen gave Sarah a big hug and then let her hold a willing Chance. Beth recalled how very welcome the young woman had always made her children feel and smiled. Rick too ran off, to start a rather noisy and probably inappropriate game of peek-a-boo with the delighted baby. Side by side, the two women entered the church.
A succession of people then offered their condolences to the pair. It was amusing really. Some offered their sympathies to Helen, many more to Beth. Some hedged their bets, and commiserated first with one, then with the other, just to be on the safe side. Noticing Mark’s parents arrive, Beth excused herself and went to meet them. Robert hardly acknowledged her, his expression pained and confused. Vanessa, on the other hand, was bearing-up well. She regaled Beth with a list of all the problems she’d encountered organising the service, and then with an equally long list of the clever solutions she had found. Then she began to point out various guests, name-dropping in a particularly shameless manner. However she failed to impress Beth, who had no idea, and even less interest, in who all these important people might be. Vanessa moved off to seek a more receptive audience.
The service was now about to begin. A large photo of Mark appeared, projected on the wall behind the Chaplain. The photo had been taken about ten years ago, early on in Mark’s marriage to Beth. Thick, dark hair framed his handsome, boyish features and his eyes twinkled in a slightly roguish way. He was the epitome of debonair charm. Beth was surprised to feel a tightening in her throat. This was the Mark she’d loved, before materialism stole him from her. A flood of long-buried feelings surfaced, threatening to overcome her self-control. It required all of her resolve to compose herself.
The formal p
art of the ceremony commenced. The mourners sang a hymn and listened to a prayer with bowed heads. By this time Mark was again standing at the back of the church. This situation was more difficult for him than he’d imagined. Fortunately the generous amount of whisky he’d swallowed earlier gave him a strong dose of Dutch courage. A Presbyterian Minister, who was unknown to him, recounted faintly amusing tales of his younger years. Mention was then made of his academic achievements and career highlights. Chance began to grizzle loudly. People turned to look, disapprovingly, but Helen failed to remove the baby from the church. The child’s cries made it difficult for Mark to hear. Thoroughly frustrated, he was tempted to move forward, but decided that it was too risky. Damn that baby! Trust Helen to spoil things for him. The Minister droned on unintelligibly. Chance howled louder. Someone else started to sob. Who was it? Craning his neck around a stone pillar, Mark finally spotted the crier. To his delight, it was Beth. His daughter, Sarah, joined in. This was terrific. Any lingering doubts about the wisdom of his plan vanished. His father also began to cry. Not soft sobbing like Beth and Sarah, but deep, pent-up wailing that vied with Chance’s cries in volume. Mark could imagine his mother digging her husband in the ribs. He knew she would be mortified at this embarrassing display of emotion. Silently he thanked his Dad.
The sermon was almost over. A large group of men, seated towards the front of the church, began to sing. Ah, thought Mark, The Welsh National Male Choir. Nice touch, Mum. The rich tones and exquisite harmonies of the choristers served to soothe the congregation. Even Chance stopped crying. Mark moved forward a little in order to see the coffin, an immense, oak sarcophagus, ornately carved, and richly inlaid with what looked like bronze. It was a closed casket, and Mark wondered if Jason’s remains were really inside, or whether there’d been next to nothing left to inter. Served him right, thought Mark again. Well, at least he’s getting a decent send-off.
A few hymns and prayers later, and the huge coffin was hoisted with difficulty onto the shoulders of six pallbearers. To the sound of solemn organ music, they slow-marched it out, destined for a private cremation. The mourners now began to leave with the immediate family moving-off first. As the Yorks filed out, Robert’s large frame was racked with sobs. Despite the risk of blowing his cover, Mark was irresistibly compelled to put a comforting hand on his father as he passed. Surprised, Robert stopped in his tracks.
“Don’t worry, Mate. He knows how much you love him,” offered Mark in a low tone, attempting to avert his face and kicking himself for his careless use of the present tense.
Robert looked intently at him.
“Did you know my son?”
“Yeah. He told me he had a great Dad.”
Unexpectedly, Robert hugged him, and without thinking he warmly returned the embrace. When they drew apart, Mark was horrified to see recognition in his father’s eyes. In a panic he pulled away, hurried out of the church, and jogged off down the street. Daring a glance over his shoulder, he saw a suddenly composed Robert staring after him. Mark was sweating profusely now. This was only partly attributable to the sultry heat. Fool, he thought. Whatever possessed him! Reaching the car, he jumped in and drove back to Jason’s. He needed time to think.
Back at the church, Vanessa was pleased to observe that Robert seemed to be more like his old self. He stood in the vestibule, graciously receiving the sympathies of his guests, engaging them with great dignity. But her relief was short-lived. When the time came for them to proceed to the crematorium, Robert refused to get into the car.
By way of explanation to his astonished wife, he only smiled and said, “Go if you wish, my Darling. You’ve worked so hard to arrange all this. But I’m afraid I won’t be joining you.”
“Why ever not?” asked Vanessa.
“Because our son is not dead,” he replied.
With that, he kissed his wife, and walked away.
CHAPTER 32
The cremation ceremony passed in a blur for Beth. At the reception she felt out of place. Helen decided not to attend. The only other person who she might consider a kindred spirit, Robert, was also not there. She supposed he’d been overwhelmed by his sorrow. After half an hour, she could take no more and excused herself and her children. Sarah was crying again. Although Beth was concerned about her daughter’s distressed emotional state, she was equally concerned about Rick’s lack of reaction. He was clearly in denial. Irene had lent her a book about grief and loss in children, so she was familiar with the process. She knew that it was important to encourage children to express their feelings, so she decided to try to get Rick to talk about his father’s death.
She got her opportunity when her son told his sister to shut up and stop blubbering.
“Sarah is crying because she feels sad and misses her father. How do you feel about it, Rick?”
“I’m fine. Can we have pizza?”
Things were worse than Beth thought.
“There’s nothing wrong with crying when you lose someone you love. It’s natural.”
“But I haven’t lost anyone,” retorted Rick, with a hint of exasperation.
“Yes you have, Darling. You need to try to accept it.”
His mother suddenly regretted starting such an important conversation while driving in city traffic. She decided to postpone it till a more appropriate time.
“We’ll talk about this more when we get home.”
“Can’t I tell you about my dream then? It’s about Dad. I thought you wanted me to talk about Dad?”
Beth realised she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
“Of course I want to hear. Go on.”
“Well, I dreamt that Dad’s not really dead. He made a clone of himself and killed that. Then he disguised himself and went around watching us to see what everyone would do. You know, to see if we loved him or not. But he let me in on the secret. I bet he’s really happy with Sarah. She’s cried more than any one. But since I know he’s not dead, then I’m not sad.”
Beth continued driving, unsure of how to reply. Minutes passed in silence. In the rear view mirror, she could see Rick happily playing his Gameboy. She knew a response was required, but she just didn’t know what to say.
“That was just a dream,” she offered lamely.
“That’s what I thought too,” continued Rick happily.
“Until I saw Dad at the funeral today. He was in disguise, just like he said he’d be. But when you looked at his face, you could tell it was him. He was there the whole time, at the back of the church.”
“Shut up Rick! You’re just making up stories,” yelled his sister.
“Am not!” Rick yelled back.
“Now, now,” interjected Beth. “You’re both upset. I don’t want you to say another word to each other till we get home.”
There was sullen silence in the back seat.
‘Great,’ thought Beth. If only she’d picked a more appropriate time to have this conversation. Now she had closed down the very discussion that Rick needed to have.
They arrived home to find Irene and her kids pulling into the driveway in front of them.
“What are you doing here?” asked Beth, as she got out of the car.
“I thought you might need a friend tonight.”
Beth looked at her children, and noticed that for the first time that day, her daughter was smiling. It seemed that seeing her friend Rebecca was just the tonic she needed. Rick was showing Simon his new game. Beth realised that she was utterly emotionally drained.
“There is something you can do for me. Take the kids for the night would you? What I really need is some time on my own.”
Irene understood and nodded.
“Will do. I’ll bring them home tomorrow lunch time so you can have a sleep in. Call me if you need me.”
The two women embraced. Then Beth went inside to pack an overnight bag for the children, who seemed pleased at the prospect of some down-time after the gravity of the day’s events.
“Call me if you need
me,” urged Irene again, who was a little reluctant to leave her friend alone.
“Please Irene. There is nothing I need more than some time to myself. You’re doing me an enormous favour. See you tomorrow.”
Then she kissed her kids goodbye and watched as the car disappeared out of the driveway.
CHAPTER 33
Beth returned to the house feeling tired and numb. She took the phone off the hook to guarantee the silence. Curling up on the couch, her mind replayed the events of the last few days over and over again. Before she knew it, she’d drifted off to sleep.
It was early evening when she awoke, feeling more refreshed than she had for a long time. What a rare luxury, to let the fears and sorrow of the past few days fade from focus. The evening remained oppressively hot, so she took a long lazy shower and slipped into a cool, white, cotton nightgown. Things seemed far less daunting now she was rested.
“What a mess!’ she thought, as she went back downstairs. No housework had been done for days. Clutter filled the lounge room and dishes mounted in the kitchen. Beth packed the dishwasher and turned it on, but left the lounge room as it was. There was something familiar and comforting about its lived-in look. The rest of the house was eerily quiet though. It had been months since Mark had taken the children for the weekend, and she realised she was quite unaccustomed to the solitude.
A knock came at the door. Beth was almost pleased, despite all her protests about wanting to be alone. Perhaps Irene had returned for some reason. She remembered that she’d left the phone off the hook, and felt a little guilty. Hoping she hadn’t worried her friend, she opened the door. It was Mark. Beth stood, open mouthed, unable to process the evidence of her own eyes. Mark smiled warmly. Beth looked very young, with her tousled, towel-dried hair, her fresh scrubbed face, her simple night gown and her astonished expression. He could see the heavy outline of her breasts through the thin, cotton material.
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