They arrived at the care home on the south side of Gloucester. As they parked Cross noticed the private ambulance stationed by the front entrance. Such a plain, ordinary-looking vehicle whose deliberately nondescript appearance, designed to make it invisibly discreet, screamed, DEAD BODY INSIDE! They found Christine and Raymond waiting in the corridor outside a room.
‘George, I told you not to come. There was no need,’ Christine began by saying.
‘I didn’t think there was a need either but then I realised that people have a tendency to lie in situations like this and there was every possibility you were doing so,’ George replied. Josie gave Christine a comforting hug.
‘It was quite quick in the end,’ Christine told her.
‘Well, that’s a blessing,’ Josie replied.
‘Yes. It’s all a bit of a blessing really. He would never have wanted to just exist in this way,’ Christine told her.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ said Josie, more as a prompt for George than anything else.
George picked up on it immediately. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ he repeated automatically. He knew that social protocol called for him to embrace his mother at a moment like this. But he didn’t like that kind of social proximity with anyone. Nonetheless, he held out his arms stiffly, as if he was going to hold her away at arm’s length. She smiled.
‘It’s all right. We don’t have to do that, George,’ she said.
‘Oh good,’ he replied.
Raymond couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this proud of his son. He and Josie shared a private, knowing smile with each other.
Christine turned to Josie. ‘Thank you for bringing him up. It means a great deal to me, George, that you’re here, despite what I said on the phone. I mean, you didn’t know him. Had never even seen him.’
George was aware from experience that agreeing with her might sound wrong in this context. So, he simply said nothing. At that point the door opposite them opened and two undertakers, dressed in simple black suits, white shirts and ties, manoeuvred a steel trolley with a black plastic body bag out of the room. Christine let out a small mournful sob, a sigh almost. Raymond took hold of one of her hands, Josie the other. When they turned to follow the undertakers out of the home, they saw that the corridor and the reception leading to the front entrance was lined on both sides by the staff of the home, in a guard of honour. Nurses, carers, cooks, cleaners all stood in line and bowed their heads in respect as the trolley went past. This was an unexpected gesture that took Josie completely by surprise. What was even more surprising, perhaps, was that this experienced police sergeant, who had witnessed countless bodies being removed in bags from crime scenes, started crying.
As they watched the plain, black van drive Duncan’s body away, Christine, Josie and Raymond all wiped the tears from their eyes.
‘Gosh, I wasn’t expecting that. The guard of honour. That completely floored me,’ said Josie.
‘Yes, very touching,’ agreed Raymond.
‘Will you come to the funeral, George?’ Christine asked.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘He will. I’ll come too,’ said Josie.
‘I’d like you to, George,’ said Christine.
‘Oh, I see. Yes, well in that case I shall certainly make every effort. Work allowing,’ he replied.
‘It’s just that I don’t think there’ll be many people there. So many have died, and Alzheimer’s seems to alienate your friends. They all visit for a while, but as things get worse, I can understand them thinking what’s the point? He no longer recognised anyone. Not even me, really. Occasionally, but mostly not. So, you can’t really blame them for staying away. It’s so distressing and everyone has their own lives to lead and problems to deal with,’ Christine went on.
‘But he knew you at the end. Right at the end,’ said Raymond.
‘Do you think so?’ she asked.
‘I know so.’
The carers at the home were obviously well versed in death and the signs that it was imminent. Duncan’s pneumonia never really cleared and a couple of days earlier they had warned Christine that his death would be soon. That’s when she’d called Raymond. Then, just before he died, the nurse saw that Duncan’s fingertips had become discoloured, almost black. This was a sign that death was just minutes away. His breathing became shallower and shallower. His chest rattled slightly. Then with a sudden spasm, his body tensed, and he opened his eyes for the first time in five days. He looked directly into his wife’s eyes as if he’d known instinctively where they were even before he opened his.
‘It’s all right, Duncan, my darling,’ Christine had said, taking her dying husband’s hand in hers. ‘It’s fine. You can go now, sweetheart. It’s time.’
Raymond thought he saw gratitude in Duncan’s pale blue eyes as he then closed them and died. Just like that. With a sigh. Almost of relief. That she’d given him her blessing. That it was all over.
He stayed up in Gloucester with Christine that night. He didn’t want her to be alone and also wanted to help with all the death administration that she would have to do the next day.
George and Josie drove back to Bristol in silence. He was thinking how enormous an event death actually was. Even when it came to someone you didn’t know, like Duncan. It was so significant. The emotional tectonic plates of life shifted. Josie had cried at the gesture of the home staff, but he thought it was more than that. He knew it was a spontaneous outpouring of all the emotions she was always suppressing about the things she saw and heard at work. He had felt something himself. He wasn’t sure what. But it was significant, if not emotionally then for some other reason. He wondered whether this feeling explained his determination when investigating someone’s murder. Was that what urged him on? What it also brought home to him was how death was a profound event to those close to the deceased. There was a sense of time moving on. The end of an era. It brought out different reactions and often uncharacteristic emotions in people. Look at Josie’s tears. He couldn’t remember having seen her cry before. He himself had imagined what his life would be like without his father recently, prompted by his being out of the country and also Duncan’s death. But how would he react to the actuality, the fact, the event of his father’s death? He simply had no idea. It made him wonder what effect Richard Brook’s mother’s death had had on him.
Ottey’s phone rang. It was Swift.