She sat on a bench in the garden and sipped green tea. She looked at the pine and oak, the large hedge along the wall, dandelions and daisies springing through the grass. Blue tits were on a feeder hanging from a high branch, to keep the birds from Schrödinger’s claws. So much death had passed through this garden, bodies coming to the embalming room, bodies going out to crems, cemeteries, churches, woodland burials. People going on a trip they would never come back from. Thousands of souls. She tried to work it out. The Skelf family had been funeral directors for over a hundred years, always in this big house, bought and converted by Old John Skelf. A few funerals a week, fifty-two weeks a year, a hundred years made twenty-five thousand, an army of the dead.
She looked at the tree where Derek hanged himself. It would’ve been a sapling when Old John started the business. Planting trees was about planning for after you were gone, longevity. What would John have thought of Derek hanging himself here? What would he think of an elderly Californian woman in charge of his legacy? She liked to think he’d be open-minded but he was a man of his time, staunch Protestant, buttoned-up and conservative.
Dorothy looked at the house, there were now five women living in it. Schrödinger appeared round the corner, he’d never been far from her since Einstein died. Maybe he was freaked by the jaguar out there, had caught a scent on the wind. Her arm throbbed with pain, her ribs grumbled as her breathing increased and she felt a wet cloth smother her as she tried to breathe her way out of a panic attack. She felt Schrödinger’s fur under her fingers, his body looping round her legs, then he leapt onto her lap.
‘Jesus.’ She tried to calm down, stroked the cat.
Movement at the end of the driveway made her jump but it was only Esha and Ravi walking slowly towards her. She smiled and rose from the bench, her body reminding her how old she was. Esha and Ravi were older, moved a little slower, and she understood that, moving carefully through the world. But she missed the version of herself who used to cartwheel on the beach in Pismo, the Dorothy who chased toddler Jenny across the Links, the woman who used to fuck her new husband two or three times in a night in the bedroom upstairs. Those women were ghosts to her now, fading at the edges.
Indy and Hannah came out of the house. They all reached each other and swapped hugs, Ravi giving Indy a warm cuddle that filled Dorothy’s heart. She’d hardly heard him speak since he got here. It was easy to dismiss the quiet ones, to forget everyone has an inner life as vivid as your own.
‘We would like to see Pratik and Giva,’ Esha said.
Indy led the way through the house into the back rooms, everyone following. Archie was in the workshop putting together coffins, the smell of sawdust in the air. The embalming room was spotless and cold. Dorothy thought of Einstein in one of the fridges, and the foot in another. The police still had the second one.
Indy opened two fridges and pulled out the trays. The coffins were still wrapped in blue tarps. This must be so hard for her. She stood back, hands together. Hannah placed an arm around her.
‘I want to see them,’ Esha said to Indy.
Indy swallowed hard. ‘No.’ Her voice cracked.
‘I’d strongly advise against that,’ Dorothy said.
Esha turned and Ravi shrunk into the background.
‘It’s our right to see them before they’re gone,’ she said.
‘They’ve been in the ground five years,’ Dorothy said.
Indy shook her head.
‘They should never have been in the ground,’ Esha said. ‘I’m sorry, we have to see them.’
‘I think that’s a mistake,’ Dorothy said.
‘I won’t do it,’ Indy said.
Hannah stepped forward. ‘I’ll do it.’
Esha stared at her. ‘What?’
‘I’ll open the coffins for you.’ She turned to Indy and lowered her voice. ‘Wait outside. This will be over soon.’
Indy wiped away tears. Dorothy guided her out of the room to the garage where the van and hearse were parked. The garage doors were open and sunlight streamed in. Indy leaned against the hearse and burst into tears, hair covering her face, hands on her thighs as Dorothy wrapped arms around her, felt her own ribs cry in pain. She pulled Indy tighter, smelled her skin and hair, felt her chest against her own, heaving in and out as she breathed in irregular gasps, her heartbeat slowly calming, Indy’s hands grabbing Dorothy’s back as if she was a life raft in a storm. They stood like that for a long time.
Eventually Indy pulled away, held Dorothy’s elbows as she laughed at her tears but didn’t try to wipe them away.
‘It’s OK,’ Dorothy said.
Indy swallowed. ‘It’s not.’
‘I know it’s not, but it will be.’
‘When?’ Indy said. ‘When does the pain go away?’
Dorothy stared at her beautiful green eyes and wished she had an answer.
‘It doesn’t,’ she said. ‘Grief never stops, you just have to make it a part of you that you can live with.’
It wasn’t enough but it was the truth as Dorothy had found it. Indy came in for another hug and Dorothy held on to her for as long as it took.