Head Over Heels

by Felicity Price

  ‘Of course.’ It dawned on me that Saturday was going to be a very busy day. Not only would I have to phone the more distant rellies and everyone else who needed to know, but we’d have to think about placing the death notice and making all the other arrangements — like where to have the wake.

  ‘Do you think we could have everyone back here after the funeral, Dad? Do you think it’s big enough?’

  ‘For sure. It’s a lovely place here. It’s our home.’

  He brought me my tea and set it down on the coffee table with a chocolate biscuit he’d found in the pantry.

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘You do too much, Penny. You’re always rushing around. You should let me help you with this. I’m not totally useless, you know.’

  I smiled at him gratefully. ‘You’re absolutely right, Dad. Let’s draw up a list of what we have to do tomorrow and you can tell me what I can leave to you.’

  Chapter 34

  Needless to say, sleep was nearly impossible that night. I tossed and turned until finally, at two in the morning, I got up and swallowed one of the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed after Steve left. It was well past its use-by date but it still packed a powerful punch because the next thing I knew it was nearly nine in the morning. Andy the funeral director was due at ten.

  I flung myself in the shower, turning the jets full in my face to shake off the drowsiness of the sleeping pill. I blasted my hair with the dryer, threw on some clothes and was downstairs by nine-thirty.

  Both Adam and Charlotte were of course still sound asleep, but Tigger was wide awake and full of bounce when I arrived in the kitchen. He rushed to the pantry and looked hopefully at the closed door.

  Andy arrived at ten on the dot, looking very smooth and professional in his dark suit and sombre tie. It was, of course, the first time I’d dealt with him actually organising a funeral, rather than managing a media crisis when the bottom dropped out of one of his coffins. Until now, I’d only seen him as the manager of a business and the source of a marketing budget which I’d gaily spent. He was still the same old Andy, however. His sense of humour was undoubtedly still there, with an occasional spark at the mention of Mum’s choice of Amazing Grace (we’d often joked in the past about the million times he’d heard it played) and How Great Thou Art (ditto). I teased him that he’d miss out on the leftovers from the wake this time as we planned to have it at home, but he brightened when I asked him to organise the catering anyway.

  He contacted the vicar at Mum and Dad’s church — the same one in which they’d married and had all us kids christened — and the service was set for Thursday at three o’clock, which gave both Stephanie and Josh a bit of wiggle room. Then he went through the long list of options that Mum and Dad had selected: donations to the Alzheimer’s Society instead of flowers, what to say in the newspaper notice, polished macrocarpa casket, cremation instead of burial, who she wanted for the pallbearers, and who would do the readings.

  When it came to the bill, I was surprised to learn it had all been prepaid, with plenty left over for Dad’s funeral costs, too.

  ‘You never told me you’d done that, Dad.’

  ‘No, lassie, it was our wee secret. We didn’t want you to have to worry when we’re gone.’

  Soon after Andy left the doorbell rang, sending Tigger into a frenzy of barking. It was my elderly neighbour, Davina.

  ‘Just a little something to keep you going,’ she said, thrusting a large casserole dish at me, with an even larger cake tin resting on the top. ‘Your mother was such a gentle soul, I’m sorry she’s gone. Please pass on my condolences to your father.’

  ‘Thank you Davina, you’re very kind. I’ll tell Dad. Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t want to disturb you. I know how busy you’ll be. But if you’d like me to do some baking for the wake, just let me know.’

  ‘Thank you, Davina.’ She turned and departed with a wave, leaving me near collapsing under the weight of her home cooking, which I knew would be mouth-wateringly delicious. Tigger parked himself beside me, slavering at the divine casseroley smell wafting from under the lid.

  It was only after she’d gone that I realised I didn’t ask how she’d found out about Mum.

  ‘Word gets around fast,’ Adam said, handing me the phone as I carried the goodies into the kitchen. ‘It’s that lady from the office.’

  It was Tracey. ‘Sorry about your mum,’ she said. ‘I know it’s tough. Even when they’ve been sick for a long time, it’s still hard to accept it when they go.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s had time to sink in yet,’ I said. ‘It’s been such a rush.’

  ‘Look, Penny, I’ve spoken to Ginny and Nicky and they’re both agreed. They want you to take the week off …’

  ‘But I’m …’

  ‘No, seriously — you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and this will only add to all the stress. You need some time to get yourself together again.’

  ‘But you all had to cover for me while I was away and I’ve got all this work I have to do …’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re perfectly capable of handling it for you.’

  ‘But I’m halfway through so many things. How about I finish off what I can tomorrow and email everything to you tomorrow night? I just feel so bad that I haven’t managed to get it all done before now.’

  ‘We can do it,’ she said firmly. ‘You can’t be expected to do everything, you know.’

  ‘Funny, that’s what Simon said.’

  ‘Sometimes you just have to accept that family has to come first. Remember when Dad died last year, after that massive stroke? Remember how he’d been sick for a long time after the previous stroke and it seemed I’d been pulled every which way, what with the boys needing me and Gerry complaining I was never home and Mum not coping. Well, you guys came to my rescue then. You banned me from coming in to the office and took my laptop off me and I had no option but to stay at home and get everything sorted. And guess what? It was great. It was just what I needed. But I never would have done it if you hadn’t forced my hand. So it’s your turn now, Penny Rushmore. Your two partners are taking charge and telling you to take a break. Before you break.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said quietly. I could feel my voice beginning to crack. I was close to tears. ‘Thank you. No one has ever done that for me before.’

  ‘It’s a funny feeling, I know. You’re so used to being in charge of everything. But sometimes, you need to let go. Sometimes it’s good for somebody else to take charge.’

  ‘I’d be a fool to refuse, I know. Thank you, Nicky. And thank Ginny, too.’

  ‘It’s not a problem. That’s what friends are for.’

  Adam was right. Word was certainly out because there seemed to be a steady stream of flower deliveries and people bearing baking — some of whom I didn’t even know.

  ‘You’ve got a lot more friends still living than you thought,’ I said to Dad after the third elderly stranger dropped by. Dad had come to the door and thanked the lady himself, but she didn’t want to come in.

  ‘You just enjoy the gingerbread,’ she said to him as she departed.

  The lounge and Dad’s room were starting to resemble a florist’s shop and the kitchen was piled high with goodies. Tigger was on full alert.

  ‘Don’t you dare even try,’ I said sternly when I came in and caught him pawing the edge of the kitchen bench.

  In the middle all the chaos, Steve arrived.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s two o’clock!’ I’d forgotten all about our appointment to discuss Adam’s rehabilitation.

  ‘Sorry about your mother,’ he said, thrusting a bunch of pink and white roses into my hands and giving me a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks. These are lovely. Come in — I’m sorry the place is a bit of a mess. It’s been so busy.’ I indicated the array of flowers and cards and papers scattered all around the room.

  ‘I see Adam’s ready and waiting.’ He indicated the empty lou
nge and gave me one of the cheeky grins that first attracted me to him all those years ago.

  ‘I’ll call him.’

  But before I got to the bottom of the stairs, the boy himself arrived through the front door, wearing shorts and a T-shirt and looking hot and bothered.

  ‘Hi, Dad. Sorry if I’m a bit late. I’ve been for a bike ride.’

  ‘Good God, so you have,’ I said, astounded. Adam’s bike had been languishing in the back of the garage ever since cycling to school had become uncool.

  ‘Good on you, son.’ Steve beamed proudly. ‘You’re making an excellent start.’

  ‘Mind if I have a shower before we sit down?’

  ‘Go right ahead.’

  ‘Would you like tea?’ I asked while Adam shot upstairs.

  ‘No thanks. I expect you’re all tea’d out, anyway,’ he grinned.

  He asked about the funeral and whether I needed a hand with the arrangements.

  ‘Yes, there is something you can do. Mum wanted you to be one of the pallbearers. Along with Dad and Adam and Mikey and his two boys. Would you mind?’

  ‘I’d be honoured,’ he said.

  When Adam eventually arrived, fresh faced from the shower, he was surprisingly eager to talk.

  ‘My goodness, you have turned over a new leaf,’ Steve said.

  ‘Yeah, maybe. But I want to get into marine biology when I leave school and I’m not going to make it unless I pass these exams. And I haven’t got very long.’

  We worked through how we’d manage the next few weeks until exams were over and school ended. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights were Steve’s and I got the remaining three, which I noticed included the weekend. But I wasn’t going to complain — Adam was pretty low maintenance as long as there was a well-stocked pantry, and now he was set on studying and his computer was locked away, I figured he wouldn’t be much of a problem. On top of it all, there was no need for him to pick up Dad from St Joan’s every day anymore. It felt awful to even think it, but Mum’s death seemed to have heralded an easier life in some ways.

  Not long after Steve had left, Simon phoned, full of apologies for not being able to come over. He was having another attack of the lurgy, he said, and was still afraid of passing it on.

  ‘I feel so bad for not being there with you, Penny. This thing just comes with no warning.’

  ‘I’m still worried about you. What does the doctor say?’

  ‘He sent me off to see a specialist in tropical diseases, who reckons I’ll be turning my stomach inside out for a while yet before I’m over it, but I’ll get there.’

  I delegated Dad and Charlotte to deal with the constant array of visitors on Sunday afternoon and managed to catch up on the half-finished proposals and plans and press releases and email them off to Nicky, along with a long list of what needed to go to who and what else needed to be done. Sending that email was like a weight off my shoulders and it made me realise Nicky was right — I was not indispensible and it was perfectly possible to be away from work for a while without the whole place falling over.

  And what a joy it was to get Sunday dinner! All I had to do was heat up one of the many dishes we’d been deluged with and accept that the kids’ rave reviews would never equate with their response to my burnt offerings!

  • • •

  I thought the three days before the arrival of Mikey, Josh and Stephanie would be relatively peaceful. Little did I know.

  This should be a doddle, I thought on Monday morning as I set about making the arrangements for Mum’s funeral. I mean, I organise events on a much bigger scale every day of the week at work. Why would this be any different?

  But I’d forgotten about the family factor. Even without my brother and sister around, there seemed to be endless discussions about which photos to use and not to use in the PowerPoint, which versions of Amazing Grace and the Twenty-Third Psalm to play, and which grandchildren should do which reading.

  On Monday night, just as we were sitting down to another yummy donated dinner, Josh phoned to say he’d had a bit of a problem with work and it didn’t look as if he’d be able to get a flight that night after all. He’d told his boss he needed to fly home urgently for a funeral and his boss had told him if that was the case, he needn’t bother coming back.

  ‘But don’t worry, Mum, I’m still coming home.’

  ‘You are? How?’

  ‘I quit. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, about coming home. I’m getting a bit sick of it here, all the time you spend commuting, and the weather isn’t that great. The summer’s over before it really seemed to have started, and now we’ve got this long winter ahead of us. So I’m coming home for good.’

  ‘But what about your job? And your flat?’

  ‘I’m over the job. I’m sick of it. I probably won’t get my last week’s pay, but whatever. I’ve saved up a lot, so I’ll be fine. And the flat won’t mind. There’s so many of us they won’t even notice I’m gone.’

  He continued to reassure me that he’d sort it all out in time to catch a flight the next night. He reckoned he would arrive home just in time for the funeral, providing there were no delays on the way.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll be there, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Don’t worry! Of course I worried. I worried that both Josh and Steph would be late; I worried that my eulogy would sound pathetic or, worse, that I’d crack up and not be able to read it at all. I managed to worry myself into such a frenzy that I had to take another sleeping pill in the middle of the night. But I made sure I turned the alarm up extra loud so I wouldn’t sleep through it like last time.

  I needn’t have worried. The phone beside the bed rang at seven, jarring me awake. It was Steph.

  ‘I thought you’d like to know I’m on my way home,’ she said. The line made it sound like she was speaking from inside a diving bell. ‘But I’ve missed my connection. I’m not sure if I’ll make it on time. I don’t suppose you can put it off another day?’

  ‘No, Steph. It’s been advertised in the paper and everything. It can’t be changed now.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. But don’t count on me being there.’

  When have I ever been able to count on you being here? I wanted to say. But I bit my tongue.

  I was not long out of the shower and was about to eat breakfast when the phone went again. It was Helen from the Philosophical Society.

  ‘Thank heavens I’ve caught you,’ she said. ‘I’m in meetings all day and I wanted to warn you that there’s a reporter from Sixty Minutes asking the student radio people questions about that lecturer at the university. Our volunteer Matt told us. He says the reporter doesn’t know any names — in fact, she doesn’t seem to know much at all yet, she’s just heard a rumour. I said I didn’t know anything about it. But I thought you’d like to know.’

  ‘Thanks. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say.’

  ‘I’m sorry to worry you, Penny. With everything else you’re going through right now, this is probably the last thing you need.’

  ‘No, it’s best to be prepared. I’ll make sure Charlotte doesn’t take any mysterious calls, just in case, and hopefully nothing will come of it.’

  Chapter 35

  After several days of grey drizzle and rain, the morning of the funeral dawned fine and sunny, with just the occasional puffy white cloud drifting across the city and out to sea. I hustled the kids out of bed and persuaded them to join me in a frenzy of cleaning and tidying. I’d managed to get upstairs done earlier in the week, airing out Josh’s room and putting fresh sheets on his bed, which had been used as a spare, and chivvying Adam and Charlotte into an extreme makeover of their rooms. I swear their carpets hadn’t seen the light of day for months, covered as they’d been in a thick layer of discarded clothes and other detritus, the origins of which didn’t bear thinking about. It had required rubber gloves and several garbage bags to clear both rooms, followed by load after load of washing, and the lounge looking like
a Chinese laundry for two days while we waited for everything to dry.

  Upstairs now looked like a display home. Downstairs still required the makeover treatment.

  With both kids at home for the day, I set them to work in the kitchen and lounge with every cleaning compound I could lay my hands on. Meanwhile, Dad caught on to the domestic whirlwind and attacked his own room, ridding it of piles of newspapers, betting papers, car magazines and hidden coffee mugs. There was a feeling in the air of a new lease of life: out with the old and in with the new.

  The caterers arrived in the middle of it all and stacked trays of food on the almost-pristine kitchen benches. I pushed them well to the back, out of Tigger’s reach. They’d barely gone when Mikey phoned to say he and the family had just checked in at their motel, which was around the corner from the church.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to descend on you just yet. We’ll see you there,’ he said. ‘And yes, I am looking respectable, before you ask!’

  I laughed. ‘You’re a fully fledged Australian now. For all I know you could turn up in an Akubra and shorts!’

  Then Andy popped by to check we were okay and to run through the arrangements one last time. He showed me the printed orders of service, featuring the photo Dad had chosen of Mum in the good old days at a family picnic. I studied it as if for the first time: she was looking directly at the camera, that old spark in her eye. I could almost hear her offering ‘Just one more piece of bacon and egg pie?’ Poor Mum had been sick for so long, I’d almost forgotten what she looked like before the grip of dementia took hold of her brain and started to empty it of reason. But the dates of her birth and death under the photo came as a jolt, a black-and-white testimony to the fact that she wouldn’t be coming back.