Juliette drove Sissy to the funeral in her Range Rover. The others took the train – Natasha and Juliette were no longer talking if they could help it, now Juliette’s affair with Natasha’s husband was out in the open, and it seemed Juliette would never speak to Renée again either, after all the things she’d said about Stephen at the picnic, not to mention the further vile accusations she’d made in Juliette’s garden. Anyway, it was more practical that way – it would have been unbearable in the car with everyone. It was a nightmare, but despite everything they had to go: they were some of Siobhan’s oldest friends, and they’d been together on the very night she’d died. They couldn’t not go.
As Juliette parked up in the narrow car-lined lane, she couldn’t believe what a huge event the funeral was. The media were there and an outside screen had been erected for all the mourners who wouldn’t fit inside the church. Juliette was horrified by the photographers – who immediately recognised her and began taking photos – but more than that she was shocked by how many people had turned up, for Siobhan. She’d had no idea Siobhan had so many friends. ‘It must be because it’s all over the news,’ she overheard Natasha whisper, as Natasha sat down behind her in the church, and Juliette thought there was no need for cattiness at a time like this, but of course she didn’t say anything.
The service had an unbearable poignancy that inked through the air and magnified everyone’s sadness. Siobhan’s father, an elegant old-fashioned-looking man, stood tall through his grief as he addressed the congregation, dark suit immaculate, tie militarily straight, hand-made shoes polished, as he talked of his love for his funny, eccentric, warm-hearted daughter, who although at times could be a little outspoken perhaps, undiplomatic even, had empathy and generosity that more than made up for it. He spoke of his and his wife’s pride at how well Siobhan had done over the years, how she had grown into such a capable young woman who’d achieved so much in her career (it appeared she’d just been made a director at her publishing company; how come she’d never told them that?), how much her boyfriend Matt had adored her, although she often didn’t seem to realise it. Derek had choked a little at this point, and stopped, seemingly unable to go on, and after a few seconds the vicar had taken his arm and guided him gently back to his seat, where Margaret had grabbed his hand and held it tightly, as though letting go would cause something to break.
Matt’s speech was even more devastating, if anything. Natasha thought it odd that only Camilla and Sissy had ever met him before, as it seemed he’d been going out with Siobhan for ages, and he was much better-looking than she’d expected – how had Siobhan pulled such a dish? Matt spoke of Siobhan’s lust for life, her success in her career, her courage, her risk-taking, her integrity. He talked of her love of acting that she’d discovered in just the last year or so, when she’d joined a group and even been in a play in a small theatre in Chiswick. Natasha and the others were stunned – how come she’d never told them? It was like the service was about a different person to the one they’d known.
But it was when Matt spoke about how Siobhan could never do too much to help someone and was such a wonderful friend, that Natasha felt uncomfortable, and the others succumbed to remorseful tears. Although the service, as these things are wont to, teetered into over-indulgence at times, the odd thing was it felt real, heartfelt, not just false flattery in death. Natasha found herself recalling the time when Nigel had cancer, of Siobhan helping Sissy through the pregnancy, the birth, although Sissy had been so delirious with grief she’d barely noticed. She remembered Nigel’s death ten years later, of Siobhan being there for Sissy, and then every weekend for months afterwards, of how Sissy’s kids had adored Siobhan. When the music signalling the end of the service started up (‘Wishing I Was Lucky’, by Wet Wet Wet) the irony felt unbearable, and Natasha wondered who’d picked it. Siobhan had adored that song, had played it over and over again in the flat in Bristol, and although Natasha had pretended it had driven her mad, she’d secretly loved it too.
As Natasha sat there, her thoughts in turmoil, she finally acknowledged that she’d misjudged Siobhan, not appreciated the person she’d become, and probably always had been. She’d written her off in recent years as nothing more than a calamitous irritant. Natasha felt faint. She had failed her friend in life and had left her in death. She was despicable. They were all despicable. As she looked desperately around the church, searching for something, someone to comfort her, she could see the shame on all their faces, every last one – even the one who had no need to feel ashamed, the one who’d already left and truly hadn’t heard the splash.