Eight Rooms

by Various

  “Hello Mum,” I said. “Well, the things you do just to get us to come and see you.” Crazy thing to say. I turned to the policeman.

  “Yes. This is our mum.”

  Not caring that I shouldn’t have touched you until the police had informed the coroner, I kissed your cold cheek and whispered, “It’s ok. We are here.”

  I went back to the others. I tried to warn them about the tube and that it really didn’t look like you, with the zipped purple hospital shroud that was now covering your body and that, maybe, it would be better to wait until you were at the funeral directors

  No way. So I returned then with Steven, who broke down but did not, could not cry. Ali then followed on; she was also used to dealing with death, but not like this. This was up close and personal. I had turned and walked out when I saw that Chas had his arms around her and I left them to say their private goodbyes. The day was now becoming a blur, having been up so early, the flight and all that had happened.

  The funeral director chosen, we had left with broken, heavy hearts. The weather outside matched our mood. Dismal, damp and cold.

  The blur had continued on the silent journey back here. I know that Steven drove and that maybe he shouldn’t have. But there had been too much on our minds to think of that. Each deep in our own thoughts.

  The children had been put to bed and sandwiches made for us when we got back. The chair was back in place and new sheets were on the bed. Steven went home, his partner had a daughter and they needed to be back. The two men slept in here in this room and Ali and I shared your bed. Ali held my hand and hot, salty silent tears had streamed down my face in the dark, unseen by anyone and only felt by me. Having drifted off to sleep for a while, the urge to cry, really cry had been overwhelming when I awoke. It was still the middle of the night and I pulled on the first thing that came to hand. It was your dressing gown. It smelt of you. I breathed it in. I couldn’t get enough of your scent. Oh I wanted you back. I crept out into the garden. It was raining now, lashing at the windows and the wind howled. It didn’t matter. It drowned the sound of my deep gut-wrenched sobs as I dared let go, really let go of some of the emotional swell inside me. You can’t go now, you just can’t. Not with a new great-grandchild on the way. He or she would never know you. It would be robbed of you. Come back. Please come back.

  As I stood in the thrashing rainstorm, hardly aware of my own state, my own guilty feelings had wracked my whole being. I had moved your chair to the other side of the room when the bedroom had been re-fitted. I had thought that it may make you use your stroke side more too. If I hadn’t have moved it, would you have still fallen?

  A new day and the children were up. I had made them breakfast and went through the motions of something that resembled a morning routine. I had glanced out of the window here and was surprised to see Ellie at the bottom of the garden. She appeared to be talking to herself. I had gone to her.

  “You ok love?”

  “Yes Nan, I’m just telling Granan that I love her.”

  “She knows,” I replied.

  “Oh but Nan, I told her that I would write her a letter and… and,” she broke into heart-wrenching sobs. “I didn’t do it Nan.”

  “She knows. Write her one when you feel like it and we will be sure to get it to her somehow eh?”

  Freddie was younger but deeper. We thought that he didn’t quite understand what was going on, but a story he wrote at school proved us wrong a few weeks later. Poor child. Poor children. He was kicking a football about on the back lawn. Ali was just about to stop him when I held her hand. “Leave him be, we need some normality in our lives right now,” I had said.

  They were going home that night. We had decided that it was best for the children to be at school, if they could cope, but they had both already made up their minds that they were to come with their Mum and Dad to the funeral.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea love?” I had said. “Yes, Mum, I do. They have to learn about life and death.”

  There had been so much to do; Steven was coming and the tin had to be found and looked into. We would do it together. The tin. Every time I visited, you would mention the tin. If anything happens to me, you must know where the tin is, you would say, and I would brush it off, saying for goodness sakes, you will outlive me. It has instructions in there, you said. Well, didn’t it just. Right down to the last minute of the funeral. Only you didn’t tell us if you wanted to be buried or cremated. Oh dilemma.

  We sat here on the sofa and searched through that tin. Nothing! The undertakers had phoned: could we take clothes for Mum. Steven, now here, had said that you were proud of your dress clothes that you wore to the ex-ATS meetings. I wasn’t arguing. Whatever he thought best. We went into your wardrobes. It felt so strange laying the clothes out on your bed and he chose a necklace for you to wear too. You would have thought that we would have got it right, wouldn’t you? I smiled at the photo once more. Two people, one ex-army and another still in a uniform. Well, we didn’t, did we? Right top, wrong skirt. Bet anything you were laughing at us fumbling about, trying our best. I phoned the number four on your list from the tin. There was a will at your solicitors for us. I explained that we would be down later to collect it, but could they perhaps look and see if there was any mention of a burial or cremation. There was. Cremation. Steven wasn’t happy.

  “It was her wish love, not what we wanted,” I had said.

  Steven, Ian, Cassie and I went to the undertakers first to drop off the clothes. At least we now had something concrete to tell them. Cremation.

  They were just wonderful people, Mum. We felt that you were really taken care of. The funeral couldn’t be scheduled for another week as the Crematorium was booked solid. Steven only went once to see you there. He just couldn’t cope with it all. He would ask if you were ok, though, as I did my daily visit to sit and hold your hand and talk to you. Ian also went once, but willingly took me to see you whenever I wanted to go, while he was here. Other times meant a taxi.

  What a funny sight we must have been. There was a lady funeral director and she would make tea or coffee, and we would sit either side of your coffin and talk about all sorts of things. The coffin they left open – I had instructed them that it mustn’t be closed until absolutely necessary, as you had been claustrophobic all your life.

  Ian went back home and onto work. I stayed here and sorted some more things out.

  There was never a cross word between Steven and I. Usually, we argued like cat and dog, but now were united in our grief. I made a scrapbook of photos and laid it in your coffin. It was of photos of all the family. The family that loved you and that you loved back. I made the lady at the funeral directors laugh. They had got your date-of-birth wrong on the metal inscription screwed to the side of the coffin. Only by a few days, but I had said if they didn’t get it right, you would turn in your grave. We were both nearly hysterical with laughter when I realised what I had said, and I know that you would have laughed too if you could have.

  Ian and Steven had taken on the role of informing people that may like to come to your funeral, and I wrote the announcement for the paper and one for the obituary column, called the vicar and we all sat with the stand-in minister in this room and made our plans, consulting the list from the tin as we went. At one point, I got very angry with him when he tried to talk us out of having a hymn that we wanted. How dare he? Whose funeral was it anyway?

  Ali and Marie telephoned every day. Ian phoned often. Steven was in and out. It was hard talking to Marie, words of comfort aren’t the same by telephone and I couldn’t touch or feel her. I knew that she had taken the news hard and was grieving on her own with no immediate family around her.

  I liked being here alone with my own thoughts when not arranging in-between. I think that everyone realised that I needed that time, everyone that is except the neighbours. They would come around in the day to check on me and to offer their condolences. Nice I thought, but leave me alone now.

  W
eird things seem to happen while you are in the state of grief. The clock that Steven had bought for you on the wall over the mantelpiece started doing its own thing. It struck whenever if felt like it. Mostly when Steven was on his way here. Steven took it away to his house and it behaved itself after that. I was sitting that night trying to sort out a tape that we had bought to play at your funeral; I was on the floor in front of your chair. I was a child again, you were brushing my hair. How many stories had you told me that way? Wedding plans, life plans. Some had happened. Some had not. The tape recorder had a tape inside it. I took it out. The title was ‘me and my girl.’ I laughed and cried at the same time. The morning that I peeped around the bedroom door on hearing Sandie on your bed, she hadn’t been eating and wouldn’t be tempted by anything anyone tried. There she was on your bed playing with a toy and looking in front of her, wagging her tail as if there was someone there that only she could see. A few minutes later, she was eating in here and there was a soft thudding noise from the bedroom. Your favourite perfume had fallen from the shelf onto the bed.

  Weird things happened at both the girls’ houses too for a while. Who knows? I would like to think that you played a part in all of it.

  The night before the funeral, Ali, Chas and the two children arrived. I was busy preparing what I could for the people that were to come back to the house afterwards. Elli disappeared into the garden almost straight away.

  “She has a letter for Nan,” Ali had said.” Do you think that the funeral parlour would open for us? I know it’s late but she wants to take it.”

  “They closed the coffin last night,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter. She needs to go; she has hardly slept.”

  I went with them both, Ian waited outside in the car and I waited outside the room where they had taken your coffin to. It was tastefully done. Ali and Ellie went through the door. Ellie clutched the letter. She came out without it.

  We were all here then, the people that were closest to you. We talked and played games with the children. We drank our favourite tipple. It was just as you would have liked it. We talked of when we were children, about the good times. We poured you a sherry and left it on the shelf here. You were with us, we knew that.

  Then it was on us. The day of the funeral. I had been up early laying out cloths on the tables and putting out what food I could that would keep out of the fridge.

  People were deep in conversation when Freddie strolled in. “Wow Nanna, are we having a party?”

  “Yes love, later,” I had replied, smiling but trying not to laugh in front of him; everyone else was smiling too.

  “Well, can I please bagsy that cake there?” he had continued.

  “Only if you put a piece of paper on it with your name on,” I had replied. He had run off then to find a pen.

  I had stood at this window, watching for the funeral cars to arrive when the phone call came. The voice said, “Is Dad there please?”

  It was Steven’s estranged son. As I handed the phone to Steven, I heard the voice shout, “Is there room for one more in the funeral cars?”

  “We will make room.”

  Steven was beaming then. “I am on my way up to you then.”

  We were all impressed with the funeral entourage, Mum. All American style with your car being led by a man with a baton until we were on the main road.

  “Wow,” Ali had said. “Nanna would have loved this; she would be giving everyone the royal wave.” She then bit her lip as she realised what she had said and we both stifled our giggles.

  When we got to the Church, well what a surprise. All your ex-ATS chums had gathered either side of the entrance in their dress uniform. We had no idea that this was going to happen. I thanked them all. They were there inside the church too with their banners held downwards in respect for you.

  I touched your coffin for the last time and told the men to be careful with you. Ian, Steven and his son were part of the four pall-bearers. It had been Steven’s wish. “Mum has carried me all of my life,” he had said. “This time I will carry her.”

  Ian then had also offered to help. Chas was to be the third one but graciously stood aside for Jez. He had grown into a fine man now.

  There was a sea of faces in the Church, some I recognised, some I didn’t as we followed your coffin in. The service was lovely and I held all the emotion back. The vicar had suggested that it wasn’t a good idea for me to read in the Church as I probably wouldn’t be up to it. If the men are carrying her, then I will read for her. I had told him.

  “Well when the time comes,” he had said,” I will look your way and if you are not up to it, just shake your head.”

  “If I go to pieces,” I had said, “Church will not be the place.”

  I stood up and read a story about your life. It had been hard to write, trying not to miss anyone out and making it personal to them. I knew that I would be alright in the Church; it would be at the Crematorium afterwards with just very close family that would be hard for me. To see your coffin finally disappear, that would be the hardest part.

  We had permission to leave my mobile phone on in the Church and I knew that Marie, so many miles away would be listening to part of the service. That was hard, I couldn’t reach out and touch her, but knew it was what she wanted.

  There is always that inappropriate moment at a wedding or a funeral and yours was no exception. I smile now. That man and wife that pounced as soon as we got outside the Church and were ready for the next step of the journey.

  “This perhaps isn’t the right moment to ask about the mobility scooter,” they had said.

  “No you’re right, it’s not.” I had replied.

  “Well then. Can we come and see you tomorrow?”

  Keep walking, I had thought.

  To say that a funeral procession was lovely is perhaps not normal. But yours really was, on the second lag of that journey. We took the coast road to the cemetery. It was a beautiful sunny autumn day, the colours of the leaves still on the trees glistened and the reflection from the sun on the sea gave an eerie silvery glow to the tainted windows of the car.

  “Wow.” Ali said.

  I smiled, the last journey you took was certainly impressive. Perfect. You were at the head of the family where you had always been. Free now, free from pain. Flying, yes you were flying ahead. We had picked up speed along that coast road and everyone’s spirits lifted.

  The coffin moved towards the black curtain and almost out of sight. Then the finality hit me. I couldn’t hold back any longer. Ellie was sobbing too and Ali sat between us softly, telling us to let you go now. Everything seemed to happen at once. The song that I had chosen as the last song was playing. I saw Chas pick up Ellie and carry her outside, someone had Freddie’s hand and they were also moving towards the door.

  Steven I saw mouth to his son, “I have to get out of here.” They made a quick exit. He was struggling to keep it together and from that direction came Ian. One arm went around my shoulder and one around Ali’s.

  “I’m ok,” I heard her say from a distance and she got up to find and comfort Ellie.

  “We have to go now, love.” Ian had said.

  “No, I have to stay until the end of the record. I chose it for her!”

  “Ok,” he had said, holding me tight.

  I don’t remember the walk out of there. I do remember the funeral director saying she must have been one fine woman and actually shedding tears himself.

  “She was.”

  We gathered in this room here afterwards. People meeting up again after years of being apart. So much news to catch up on. Steven and Jez went into the garden to talk privately. Freddie, with big round eyes, had his cake and was eating it. Ellie sat on your chair with Sandie on her knee. Smiling now as Sandie muzzled into her legs.

  We were here until late that night. The crowd had dwindled down to the original eight now. I wondered if anyone else was feeling the enormous relief of the day being over that I was. I think so.
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  The family were asked if they wanted anything to remember you by. They all chose things that held dear memories for them. All of them wanted to know if the old stool that you used to whiz them around on as young children was still here. Sadly it wasn’t. So Marie asked if she could have the two little figures that she and Ali had saved their pocket money up to buy you as children. Ali asked for your cup and saucer to put in her dresser. Steven chose two sets of your earrings for his daughters and Jez surprised us the most by wanting your carpet sweeper that he had played with as a child here. You didn’t have a lot, Mum, but all they really wanted was to keep the good memories of you alive.

  The next morning was a fiasco. Ellie opened the door to the people that were interested in your mobility scooter and brought them in here. Freddy was shouting that there was a present for me. Four more people were shown in by Ellie to pay their respects. Behind then stood the funeral director, with Freddie dancing around wanting to know what the present was.

  I look full on at the photograph now. You would have thought it was all so funny.

  You had returned. This time as ashes in an urn that was concealed in the present box. I took the box from the funeral director and placed it here on the high shelf. Mainly out of Freddie’s way. It would have been awful if he had opened the present and you had spilt onto the floor. You would be safe there until we could scatter your ashes properly where you wanted to be. The noise had been deafening. Ian saw my face change, pleading with him to please get all these people out of my mother’s house. It seemed immediate that he was thanking everyone and ushering them all out.

  Then Ali was packing to go home. I waved and smiled until they were out of sight, then turned and cried. I knew that you had done that too when I was the one that was leaving. All at once the house was quiet. Ian was making coffee. I sat here looking out of this window, calmer now. The white unmarked van parked outside and then a man with a ‘for sale’sign walked across the garden and started knocking the signpost into the ground. There had been a mix up with the dates. I broke down completely then.