Bright

They took the van to the church for the funeral. Any of the residents who didn’t drive lined up to get in, a process that seemed to take longer that the actual drive there, with walk- ers and canes piling up in the back and everyone discussing hip replacements and their various types of arthritis.

Mary, he discovered, rode a bike to work. She had her gran’s car, she told him, but she only used it if she had to.

Things were a bit awkward with them. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the whole Dallas thing, or the hug he prob-

The service seemed to take a long time. It was stinking hot inside the chapel and Bright was sweltering in his suit jacket and tie. Mary wore a dark navy dress and had her hair pulled back in a short ponytail at the base of her neck. She looked different. Nice, but more normal than he’d ever seen her. Bright wasn’t sure he liked it.

Ada’s family had come from out of town, so Mary and Jan- ice had organised afternoon tea in the cafeteria afterwards. Bright found a seat next to Klaus, who had a cup of tea and a plate with a club sandwich, a scone and two biscuits bal- anced on his knee.

“All right, Dad?” He took one of the biscuits and Klaus switched the plate to his other knee.

“Wasn’t it a lovely service?” Klaus said.

Glenda had sat down on his other side. “Not a very good turnout though,” she said. “When my Raymond died, I counted one hundred and twenty-three.”

“We had over two hundred at Jack’s funeral,” Lois called out from across the way. “I thought that was pretty good as we’d only moved to the city five years beforehand. There was so much food left over and still people were leaving casse- roles on my doorstep for weeks.”

Viv was listening in. “My husband and I divorced after seven years, but when he dies I’ll dance on his grave. Mis- erable git.”

“I didn’t know you were married, Viv,” Lois said. “Biggest mistake of my life.” Viv smiled over at Helen.

“Jack and I had a wonderful forty-five years together, and I’d do it all again,” Lois said.

Jerry’s cup rattled against the saucer as he picked it up. “I would too,” he said.

“Well, weddings are fine, but I do love a good funeral,” Glenda said firmly. Several people nodded in agreement.

Bright watched Mary as she chatted to each resident, of- fering a hug or a tissue when needed. She’d cried during the service and her eyes were still red. Each loss must be hard for her as she got to know everyone so well. She seemed so kind and it surprised him that she was the type of woman who would go after a man who would cheat. Or that she’d be willing to hurt someone herself. But maybe he didn’t have all the facts and it was something mutually agreed.

Bright watched as his ball hit a tree and landed in the long grass somewhere underneath it. “It’s been a day,” he said.

“Looking forward to a drink after this, to tell you the truth.” Gary and Bright had known each other since university. They were in neighbouring dorm rooms and the next year, even though Gary had left and gotten a construction job, they flatted together. When Bright had finished his business degree it was Gary who suggested he and Bern should in- vest the money his mother had left them in the retirement

Years later, after Gary got back from a stint living in Eu- rope, he’d asked Bright if he wanted to partner up on a busi- ness idea. And Dainty Dwellings was born. They worked well together, Gary doing more of the manual work and him in administration. He was trying to do the marketing too, but he was thinking they might have to start hiring out for that. And take on another building apprentice.

Bright had been best man at Gary and Sharon’s wedding and was a godfather to his three kids. Apart from Bern, Gary was his best friend.

“Did I tell you Sharon’s mum broke her bloody leg,” Gary said, putting his tee down and balancing his golf ball on top. “Fell over that stupid rat of a dog of theirs and cracked her fibula.”

“Shit, that’s no good,” Bright said, looking for his water bottle in his bag. “How’s she going to cope?”

“Sharon’s going to stay on after Christmas and help her,” Gary said. “But we’re going to have to move Christmas to her place now.” He took a swing, watching with satisfaction as it

flew down the fairway. “Bloody pain in the arse. I’d already booked the marquee for our place but the bird at the hire place tells me it’s too late for a refund.”

“Bugger,” said Bright, pulling his trundler down the fair- way with a sigh. “When will you head off?”

“Christmas morning,” Gary said. “Less traffic, and then we don’t have to try to smuggle all the kid’s stocking stuff into the car.”

“Makes sense,” Bright agreed. “Bloody Christmas, eh?” Gary gave him a long look. “What’s up? Is it your dad?” “No. Well, yes, him too. He’s definitely getting more doo-

lally. I think he forgets he’s eaten and then he eats again. He’s getting fatter every time I see him. And he’s a bit away with the fairies most days. Gets strange ideas about things and insists they’re important. But he seems okay in terms of taking care of himself. He showers, dresses himself, hasn’t left the oven on or anything.”

“Well, that’s something. What does Bern say?”

“Well, he only hears what I tell him really. He’s busy — he’s got the kids, Di’s working long hours, and he’s back part time now too. I dunno. Not much he can do from Perth, is there?” “No, but if you have to make decisions at some point, it

Bright stared glumly down at his ball, sitting precariously near a water hazard.

“Let’s hope that’s not too soon,” he said, contemplating which club to use.

“So if it’s not your dad, what’s making you so miserable?” Gary asked. “I’d use your seven iron if I were you.”

Bright pulled out the club and tried to find some balance on the edge of the water.

“It’s this woman at work,” he said. “Mary.”

“Ahh, what? One of the oldies’ kids? Not another bloody accountant, is she?” Gary pulled out his phone and fiddled around with the screen.

“She’s not actually. She works there. And she’s nothing like any other woman I’ve dated.” He looked up. “You’d bet- ter not be filming me,” he said, and Gary grinned.

“Just in case it’s a miracle shot. Or a good laugh.” Bright gave him the finger. “So what’s wrong with her then, this Mary?”

Bright swung, hitting the ball onto the edge of the green where it rolled back and into the water.

“Shit, bad luck, mate,” Gary laughed.

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” Bright said. “She’s amazing.

And cute and quirky. But she’s seeing someone.” “Shit. Now that is bad luck,” Gary said.