SUFFICE TO SAY, the day they said their final goodbyes to Karen was one of mixed emotions.
They’d already had the funeral. And though Verity had nothing to compare it to, it being her first, she understood that it had gone smoothly, under the circumstances.
At the church, Verity had been placed in charge of Brontë – double-checking she had everything she needed, making sure she felt secure under the heavy gaze of the local community – and Verity was glad of it. She felt better knowing she had a responsibility, something to do.
So that just left the matter of Karen’s ashes.
What to do with them?
Bruce and Mary had already taken a portion of Karen back to Macclesfield.
‘Which portion?’ Brontë had asked, brow furrowed, when she overheard them discussing it, as though they’d made off with Karen’s right leg or something.
Bruce and Mary thought the remainder of Karen should be scattered in the garden. Among the azaleas, to the right of the patio, as this was where Mary and Karen shared mother-and-daughter time when the sun was out, and where Bruce remembered his daughter being at her happiest.
But Noel didn’t like the idea. He didn’t come right out and say he didn’t like the idea, but Verity could see by the look of aversion on his face that he didn’t want Karen in the azaleas. Or anywhere else in the garden for that matter.
‘We’ll have a ceremony of our own,’ he had announced.
‘Where?’ asked Bruce.
But her father didn’t have an answer.
Brontë was all for hiring a boat, rowing out into the centre of the lake and releasing Karen to the wind. But Verity had to explain, very gently, that though this was a lovely, thoughtful idea, it might not be the best resting place for Karen. She neglected to say this was because Brontë’s mother’s dead body had been found in the lake. Instead she had concocted a story about the place needing to hold special relevance for Karen.
The problem was they couldn’t think of anywhere that did hold special relevance for Karen. She didn’t like the fells, so that was out. And, apparently, you now had to get a special permit, as there’d been a spate of people leaving their urns behind. Karen didn’t do water. Nor did she like to garden, walk or cycle.
In the end, Verity’s dad had decided they would walk to the top of Orrest Head and they would let her go there. The spot didn’t hold any particular significance for Karen, but the rest of them had been up there often enough as a family, so it would have to do. And the wind would blow Karen’s ashes over Windermere, her home, the village she loved. Verity knew this wasn’t strictly true, as the prevailing winds tended to be of a south-westerly persuasion and would carry Karen’s ashes away from Windermere, more in the direction of Kentmere. But she desisted from airing this, as she had a feeling her dad had invented this bit of romance merely for Brontë’s benefit.
So, on the next clear day, they went. And it was okay. Brontë had a little cry when Ewan spoke to Karen directly. ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry you’re not with us. It’s nice up here, I think you’d like it. You can see the mountains and the lake and the sky…it’s actually pretty cool. Brontë’s here, too. She misses you. We all do. We all hope you’re not alone wherever you are, and maybe, maybe you can check in with us from time to time? Make sure we’re all doing okay? That’d be good…oh yeah,’ he said, ‘I forgot to tell you, I have a job. It’s good. I like my boss…I love you, Mum. Goodbye.’
Verity found she was unexpectedly moved by his efforts.
Her dad also went on to do a good, solid job of making Karen appear loved and grieved for (although he did speak to the mountains opposite rather than address Karen straight, as Ewan had).
‘Eulogies are so hard to give,’ he began. ‘Forgive me as I stumble through this as I’m unable to sum up all that was Karen, Karen, my wife, in just a few short lines. How can I express the kind of woman she was, what she did for us every day, her mighty presence? I simply can’t. All I can say is that she’s left a huge hole. I will miss her terribly. This family will never be the same, but we must stick together. And we must honour Karen’s memory by being kind to one another. I think – no, I’m certain – I’m certain that we can do that.’
He said, ‘Amen’, quietly, as though he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate or not. And the whole thing took less than an hour (including ascent and descent).
After their makeshift ceremony, the sombreness of the preceding days seemed to lift somewhat, and Verity could feel a kind of normality begin to return to the house. Karen’s murder was rarely talked about. And never in front of Brontë. Her mother had been killed, but she didn’t know how, or by whom. Sonny was pleading not guilty to the crime, which Verity’s father said was ‘utterly ridiculous: anyone with half a brain can see he’s guilty. And now, because of his lack of consideration we have to endure weeks of a bloody trial.’ But though Sonny’s plea was ridiculous, it was not totally unexpected.
Her dad said Jennifer’s nephew had made a career out of making life as difficult as possible for all concerned and why should this be any different?
It was the one and only time Ewan came right out and asked why he thought Sonny had murdered his mother. And Noel replied, ‘I’m not sure we’ll ever really know what happened on that day, son,’ after which he cast Verity a shifty, sidelong glance which convinced her that he did have a fair inkling of what had happened on that day.
She had a fair inkling of her own. But she never raised the subject with her mother, firstly, for fear of being overheard, and secondly, for fear of it being true.
That was four months ago now. Sonny O’Riordan was on remand and, as yet, a date for the trial had not been set. Brontë was doing well – her hand had recovered fully – though she’d not returned to the piano or the harp, as, with their dad working evenings at the surgery, there was no one to take her to her music lessons. Ewan was learning to drive and had promised to run Brontë around as soon as he passed his test (though, so far, he’d failed his theory three times). But Brontë didn’t seem to mind. The novelty of coming home from school, lying on the sofa, watching TV for two hours, with absolutely nothing to do, had not yet worn off.
Verity’s dad, meanwhile, was officially dating. He’d been doing it in an unofficial capacity for a couple of months, but there was a kind of unspoken agreement between Ewan, Verity and Brontë – Dale, too – whereby they didn’t mention Joanne Aspinall’s name outside of the house. People might get the wrong idea. Joanne came for dinner twice a week. She didn’t have a key. Never stayed over. And never kissed her dad in front of any of them.
Verity was pretty sure they were having sex. But she appreciated the fact that they were being discreet about it all the same.
Verity wondered if Joanne would move in eventually. She wouldn’t mind if she did. Joanne had a calmness about her that Verity appreciated after the tumultuous years she’d spent living with Karen.
Perhaps Verity would mention it to her dad. Tell him it was okay by her.
Yes, she decided. When he returned home later that evening, that’s exactly what she would do.