The interior of the quaint Norman church was illuminated by the strong autumn sunshine that poured through its stained-glass windows. A trickle of mourners became a procession as the starting time of two-thirty approached for the ‘Service of Thanksgiving for the Life of Suzie Barber’. Old friends and acquaintances nodded in recognition, with their faces set in looks of grim concentration.
The church didn’t exactly fill up. Tony and Frank sat in the front pews either side of the aisle. Danny arrived with his partner, Oliver, and they took seats behind Tony. They were joined by a middle-aged woman sporting a 1970s’ punk hair-style, who hurried into the church as the doors closed; she turned out to be Danny’s sister, Sharon. Tony glanced back and saw Grant with a woman he presumed to be Brigit. He beamed a warm smile at the mildly surprised Grant, as if reassured by his presence. Caroline caused the door to be reopened, and on spotting Grant she squeezed in next to him, on the other side to Brigit. The churchwarden reclosed the door and was visibly annoyed to see it immediately reopen. In filed Nick Charnley and his sister, Jenny Poskett, soon joined by Justyn with his on–off girlfriend, Clare, and his older brother, Henry. They took seats behind Caroline, Grant and Brigit.
The churchwarden shut the door firmly again as the organ music stopped, awaiting the formal start of the service. Although there was only a sprinkling of other friends, the contingent from Suzie’s past sufficiently swelled the congregation so that the small number of pews, no more than a dozen on each side, now seemed fairly full. Attention was taken by the door creaking open yet again. This time a frail, elderly lady, her hair and head shrouded in a veil, stepped across the threshold. Grant froze, as he feared a final appearance of Estelle, but on removal of the veil he was mightily relieved to recognize the features of Suzie’s Aunt Mary. Grant recoiled slightly as he recalled the last time he had met her in such unpleasant, highly charged circumstances at her Bayswater home, where Suzie had revealed her disturbing true colours.
The congregation sat in silence to await the arrival of the vicar. It was now more than five minutes after the appointed time, and such was the tension that it felt more like the hiatus caused by a delayed bride at a wedding, with the bridegroom fidgeting and getting neck ache from constantly looking behind him. Once again the church door crunched and croaked open, disturbing the prolonged tense silence. If the appearance of Suzie’s aunt had been a dummy run, the assembled mourners were now confronted by the real thing. The gaunt, antiquated figure of Estelle stepped forward, assisted by a formally dressed man of middle years whom the assembled mourners assumed to be a chauffeur, butler or personal assistant. In any other situation an audible gasp would have been heard, but the congregation was too respectful of their surroundings to react.
This was the moment many had feared. Frank and Danny exchanged anxious glances as Frank rose to his feet; simultaneously Tony stood up as well, motioned with his hand to Frank to sit down and proceeded to the pulpit at the right-hand front of the church. There was no evidence of a vicar, and there was no one even to announce the traditional singing of a hymn to initiate proceedings. Instead Tony addressed the congregation with the words of Henry Scott Holland’s ‘What Is Death?’
‘Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we still are.’
And so it continued until Tony finished with the poignant lines:
‘I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner
All is well.’
The last lines were spoken in a barely audible whisper as Tony broke down. He climbed slowly and awkwardly down the steps from the pulpit. At that point a rather deranged-looking vicar with long, curly white hair strode to the front of the church from the left of the congregation. He announced joyfully, his eyes bulging as if he was exercising them, ‘We are here to celebrate the wonderful life of Suzie Barber, and I ask you all to sing the first hymn from the booklet, “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord” …’ at which his own eyes seemed to widen further. At this Danny’s partner, Oliver, gave an involuntary giggle which was largely drowned out by the singing of the hymn.
The service continued on rather more formal lines with hymns and prayers, but Tony was unable to deliver the address he had prepared as a tribute to his sister. His face was awash with tears, and a number of those sitting close to him saw his distress. Ironically the man Grant had previously deemed without emotion was now weeping openly, revealing his true feelings in plain sight. Suzie’s widowed husband, Frank, motioned to him, offering to step into the breach. Tony politely declined the offer, as he did Danny’s overture. Surprisingly, Tony beckoned to Grant, inviting him to step forward and read the eulogy. Grant reddened momentarily but then responded and was handed the script. He climbed up the steps to the pulpit, paused and advised the congregation that he was reading the words written by Suzie’s brother, Tony.
‘My sister Suzie was born on 15 October 1955 in St Thomas’s Hospital, the first born to Richard and Yvie Hughes-Webb. I arrived in the world a little more than two years later …’ For several minutes Grant told Tony’s story of Suzie’s life and of a brother’s love for his sister, with no mention of mental instability or suicide attempts or anything remotely controversial. This was until he read out the astonishing sentence ‘Our father was not a bad parent; he was a terrible one.’ Grant stared at the text he was holding, as if looking at a gun he had just fired that had killed someone before thinking, Oh no, I can’t have done this!
The assembled mourners gave a collective gasp. Grant, whose chin and jowls had wobbled in a sort of tango, now felt his face go crimson. He stopped abruptly. He couldn’t bring himself to articulate the next line written by Tony: ‘You see, he played God.’ Grant ignored this and instead ad-libbed, ‘And we will all cherish Suzie in our memories and miss her very much.’ He eased himself down from the pulpit, and the eccentric cleric took centre stage once more.
‘We will now sing our final hymn, “The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended”, oh yes!’
The congregation ripped into this with vigour and volume, relieved to avoid further tension and embarrassment. Several people cast skewed glances at Tony, who had now composed himself and was singing as if his life depended on it, his lungs belting out for England and St George.
Thoughts now turned to the après-service hospitality, and Tony wasn’t alone in wondering whether Estelle would be joining them at the designated hotel near by. The congregation slowly departed the church to the strains of John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’. The vicar had informed them that this was Suzie’s favourite song and declared ‘Imagine Suzie is here with us!’ The assembled looked sheepish and tried to ignore this strange request, averting their eyes from the clergyman. The first person to walk down the aisle out of the church looked steadfastly ahead. The fresh air blew hard against the autumn trees, now displaying the classic colours of the season, gold, russet and copper. Tony made a beeline for Grant who had become stuck in the middle of a random, mundane conversation between Brigit and Caroline.
‘Grant, I’m really sorry to have dumped that on you, and well past the last minute of the last hour …’
‘Don’t worry.’ Grant smiled warmly at Tony. ‘It’s just I’ve always respected you, and I know how Richard affected your life, damaging your family, and I couldn’t …’
‘It’s OK, Tony. For both of us it’s a case of revenge being a dish best served cold. Great choice of song at the end, by the way.’
‘Yes, Suzie played it constantly when she came out of hospital. I think it gave her a sense of calm at that time. What a weird vicar though.’
‘Are you sure he’s a vicar?’ Grant’s flippancy got the better of him.
They were interrupted by burly Frank joining them, announcing in a rasping, hostile voice, ‘If that woman follows us to the hotel I may not be accountable for my actions … !’ They both knew to whom he referred, observing the wizened, ancient figure with pink hair crouching on a stick near the church, her companion nowhere to be seen.
‘Ah, Anthony,’ she began as she walked towards them. ‘I wanted to come to say sorry. It was a wicked thing I did. You see, the hate I’ve held in my heart for your father for most of my life has been the reason of my failure …’
Tony moved forward and held her tiny, bony right hand between his, observing her closely before replying, ‘It’s all right, Estelle. You’re forgiven.’
But Estelle’s eyes were elsewhere, trying to focus on a row of gravestones behind him, looking past him as if he hadn’t spoken. The wind had whipped itself up into a gale, stirring up the autumn leaves that covered the graveyard into a blizzard of muddy brown. Through the flurry of dancing leaves she shouted, ‘Look! I think there’s a man over there.’
Grant and Tony turned to see where her eyes led. Justyn and Danny rushed to join them, as they shielded their eyes with their hands to see better. A hooded man came briefly into view some thirty yards away. Then a bottle came flying through the air, crashing and shattering at Grant’s feet, revealing a rolled-up piece of paper that rocked to and fro in the wind among the shards of glass, beating like an open heart in an exposed, shattered chest.
Grant bent down to read it.
‘What’s it say?’ yelled Justyn.
‘It doesn’t. It’s a drawing …’
The others present spoke as if with one voice: ‘Of a mermaid?’
Grant nodded.
Justyn made to give chase, shouting, ‘I’m not having this. Hector doesn’t deserve this!’
He was grabbed by Grant, who failed to hold him. Justyn wriggled free but was brought crashing to the ground by Tony, the former rugby player, with a shoulder-barging tackle applied to his right thigh.
It was Grant, however, who was first in Justyn’s ear. ‘Let it go. It’s over.’