Chapter 23

Upstairs in their room, Charlie sat on the bed and patted the space next to him.

“Come on, I’ll be gentle with you,” he said.

Robin sat, his hesitation apparent. Charlie appreciated more than he could know the sacrifice he was making.

“Do I need to take notes?” asked Robin.

“If you think it necessary,” said Charlie. So Robin pulled his phone out of the drawer, opened the notes app, waited for Charlie to begin.

“First, I’ve written most of the disbursements I want you to make on my behalf and stored them with my will in the safe. But some have changed. I want you to give the Chanel handbag to Mary. Don’t give it to Rosa, she’d sell it, but Mary will treasure it.”

“Good,” said Robin, managing to transmit in that one word exactly what he thought about Charlie’s niece.

“Tell her, though, that she must promise to carry it with all the chutzpah she can find in herself. And give Bridge my Chanel scarf. She’ll look lovely in it, like the queen she is.”

“I’ll do that for you,” said Robin. “Any other disbursements? Do you want me to give Jack your car and Luke your Rolex?”

Charlie laughed. “I’ll think of something for them and write it down for you to execute. Now, in the locked left cupboard of my desk at home, you’ll find all the information you need on investments and bank accounts, national insurance number, insurances, passwords. I’ve got all the financial affairs organized. I’ve been in contact with the funeral director and given him a running order of the service already so you don’t need to bother about all that.”

“You didn’t have to do this, Charlie.”

“I wanted to. It helped me come to terms with things, gave me some control. In a way it was quite comforting. What would haunt me is looking down, seeing you flummoxed by having to make decisions your head just doesn’t want to deal with at that time. But there are some extras I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” said Robin, seeing how much this meant to Charlie and feeling a tinge of regret that he’d shied away from doing this before. It wasn’t as traumatic as he’d imagined—so far.

“I want Christmas foliage on my coffin. Holly and poinsettia flowers. And mistletoe.”

“If it’s available out of season,” said Robin, tapping this into his phone.

“We both know I’m not going to last until the bluebells come out, darling. Now music. There’s a change. I want ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ and—”

“You can’t have that,” protested Robin. “It’s far too jolly.”

“Every day has been Christmas with you, my dear, capable Anne.”

Robin gave his head a wobble, a sharp intake of breath to steady himself.

“You can stop that as well. Making me emotional. This is the longest half hour of my life already.”

Charlie nudged him affectionately with his shoulder.

“I’ve left Dotty five thousand pounds in my will, but I want her to have ten.”

“Eh? She’ll be the richest cleaner in Hertfordshire.”

“She’s been a godsend. And put her wage up.”

“Shall I transfer the deeds of the house to her as well?”

“It’ll be your house when I pass, you do what you like with it. What song did you think of having in the middle when everyone is supposed to have bowed heads and sentimental thoughts of me?”

“ ‘Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead,’ ” said Robin, which made Charlie hoot.

Robin drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about this stuff at all.”

“You have to. And sorting it out now is better than after, when it will be so much harder work because you’ll be tired and confused. Can’t you remember the state I was in when my mother passed?”

Robin could. He hadn’t been far behind Charlie in the upset stakes either. He’d adored Charlie’s mother.

“Let me tell you what I’ve picked. It can only be Vera singing ‘We’ll Meet Again,’ ” said Charlie.

“Ooh, that’s vulgar.” Robin winced.

“I don’t care, I want it. And I want people to sing along, and to sway as they’re doing it. And don’t even try to negotiate probate; I’ve left instructions with Reuben to do all the legal stuff. You can trust him, you know you can.”

Reuben was Charlie’s nephew; both he and Robin were very fond of him. Not so much his sister Rosa, who strangely had only started visiting when they’d heard Uncle Charlie was ill. Circling like a starving vulture, Robin had said. He wasn’t fooled by her sudden concern for her uncle’s well-being.

“I’ve left the clothes I want to wear in the third bedroom wardrobe. In an old Savile Row suit box. I thought I’d meet my maker in the dark gray suit we got married in. Yellow cravat, and I’d like a white Yorkshire rose in my buttonhole, just like on the day.”

They’d had bespoke matching suits, even down to the matching shoes.

“Underwear, socks, it’s all in there. You can leave off the top hat. It made my head sweat.”

“You’ve done that, too?” Robin looked at him incredulously.

“Yes, Robin. I want to save you as many duties as possible. I know you, you’ll dither for ages worrying that you’ve picked the right things—are these the socks he would have chosen?—so I’ve taken it upon myself to do this. Don’t come and see me lying there inanimate in the Chapel of Rest, remember me as I was.”

Robin nodded. He was grateful for that, because he didn’t think he could bear seeing Charlie lying there still. Charlie and still didn’t go together—he snored and twitched even when he was deeply sleeping. “Is it okay if I come and sit with you, though?”

“Of course,” said Charlie. “Just don’t expect me to converse. I’ve also been having a think about where you can scatter me. Best to cremate me first.” He nudged Robin, who let out a spurt of laughter, despite the tears pricking his eyes now.

“Don’t, Charlie.”

“We could always find humor in anything, you and me, Robin.”

“Not in this.”

“I want maximum black regalia, no bright colors or rainbows. I want full-blown gravitas, black horses, no flowers except from you—something with white roses in it, and feel free to stink the place out with Stargazer lilies, I’ve always liked those. Donations in lieu of flowers to The Little Hospice down the road. This is all in the letter stapled to my will.”

“Then we don’t need to talk about it.”

“I want to. I need to explain so there’s no surprises for you, no shocks. Your brain will be the equivalent of a mashed beet. Anyway, I want Father Derek to conduct the service in Tuckwitt Church, not that awful Father Aubrey who talks ad infinitum and bores everyone stupid, then I’ll go on to the crematorium by myself and—”

“You will do no such thing.” Robin refused that request, point blank.

“Yes, I will. You say goodbye to me at the church, then go and play host at Tuckwitt Manor. People will need to be fed and watered by then and you should mingle, it’ll cheer you up. As for my ashes… in the letter it says I want them to go at the bottom of the garden, but I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to be sprinkled with my mother and father in the sea at Whitby. I don’t think I’m going to be leaving Yorkshire alive, Robin. I shall end in the place I started.”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid.”

“There’s a certain serendipity in dying in the area in which you were born. It’s as if I’ve come home for that reason.” Charlie had said his goodbyes to the south when he set off. He wouldn’t be back this time, he knew it.

“Don’t forget to keep up with my donations to the Yorkshire greyhound rescue center,” he continued.

“I won’t.”

“Oh, and don’t let Rosa convince you that I want that ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep’ poem read out at the service, I fucking hate it.”

Robin chuckled again, even as his tears fell.

“I promise.”

“She’ll lie and tell you it was one of my favorite poems. It isn’t. It’s morbid. I want a limerick. There was an old jeweler called Charles, who traded in diamonds and parls … but he wasn’t one for the garls. Something like that.”

“I am not doing that. I’ll find something classy.”

“I wish I could hear your eulogy. Will you speak of me in glowing terms?”

“No, I’ll say you were a ridiculous old fart.”

“You’ll do me proud, I know you will. I’d like to be there at my own funeral. I will do my best to attend.”

“Well, sit at the back, otherwise I’ll have a heart attack and end up joining you,” said Robin. “The two of us can end up in the sea at Whitby, then, distributed from the same urn.”

Charlie smiled. “I will try and come back and let you know I’m all right, but it won’t be in the form of a white feather or a robin or a butterfly because that’s overdone, isn’t it? What shall it be, then? Let’s decide now.”

“A diamond dropping from the sky. One big enough to give me a concussion.”

“Too obvious.” Charlie thought for a moment. “I’ll leave a cherry on the floor somewhere.”

“Oh, very clever, so someone slips on you and goes flying.”

“A cherry, not a banana skin, Robin. All right, something else, then.” His eye caught the beautiful scene framed by the large picture bedroom window. “I know, I’ll come down to see you in snow form. You can stand by the French window and watch me fall gently into the garden.”

“I’ll be in Bermuda with my new lover for the winter months, so I’ll miss you dropping by, sorry.”

“Freak snow, like this. You won’t want me popping by every five minutes, you’ll have your new life to lead. But when the weathermen are scratching their heads because the snow is unexpected, you can presume I’m partly to blame for it.”

Their volley of banter stalled now. Robin couldn’t respond because his heart was breaking in his chest. Who could ever hope to fill Charlie’s huge, solid, perfect footsteps?

Charlie lifted the phone from Robin, put it down on the bed, took his hand; it was shaking like a frightened bird.

“I want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

“I have and he does. Mostly.”

“You’re a young man, Robin.”

“I feel ancient. Fifty-five isn’t that young.”

“Fifty-five is spring chicken age. I was forty-seven when we got together romantically, if you remember. I won’t stand for you moping around covered in cobwebs like Miss Havisham, do you hear me?”

“White’s not my color.”

“I know, it makes you look bleached.” Charlie felt the weight of Robin’s big hand in his own. Solid, strong, tender—this hand stood for the whole of him. “Find someone that makes your heart sing, my darling; you aren’t meant to be lonely. Someone should have the gift of you after I’ve gone. I shan’t rest easy knowing you’re being maudlin and crying yourself to sleep.”

“Don’t kid yourself, I’ll be clubbing every night. Off my tits on cocaine.”

Charlie let loose a burst of laughter at that. “Don’t be frightened of falling in love. Just be careful and don’t let anyone love the money more than you. I don’t have to tell you this, you’re sensible, but you might just be a bit vulnerable. What about Reuben’s friend, the architect? He’s very good-looking.”

“Ugh. He smells of yeast. I just couldn’t.”

“What about Daniel, Sol’s widow?”

“Daniel bores me rigid. He has three topics of conversation: himself, himself, and politics. I imagine Sol threw himself into the grave headfirst to escape.”

“Find someone gorgeous who’d love you if you were rich or poor, like I found you. There are lots of diamonds out there waiting to be discovered.”

Robin broke down then.

“Charlie, how do I live without you?”

“For goodness’ sake, don’t go all LeAnn Rimes on me.”

Robin snorted involuntarily. “Oh, look, tears and snot. What a mess you’ve made of me.”

He stood up to get some toilet paper to clean himself up, came back into the bedroom to find Charlie sitting, smiling like a beatific Mother Teresa.

“Thank you for this Christmas present. It means the world.”

“I love you,” Robin blurted. “I never said it enough. I hardly ever said it at all, but I hope you know I do and I will always love you.”

“LeAnn Rimes and Dolly Parton. I’m impressed.” Charlie stopped joking then. “I know you do, my dearest Robin, and—”

“But you needed to hear it more, Charlie. You’re my soul mate, I don’t feel worthy enough for you. You’re the kindest, most beautiful man in the universe and I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was, I’d gladly do it again. The thought of being without you—”

Charlie reached over to his bedside drawer, pulled something out. A ring box. He placed it in the center of Robin’s palm. Robin opened it to find a stunning thick platinum hoop studded with yellow diamonds. It was beyond exquisite.

“Something to remember me by. Something to remember this perfect moment by,” said Charlie.

“It’s never real, is it?” Robin half gasped.

“I don’t do fakes. You know it’s real.”

Robin put it on; the diamonds twinkled like sunshine as he moved his hand around. Of course it fit, because Charlie had designed it and he was a master at his craft.

“Merry Christmas, Robin. You have made my life happier than I could ever have thought possible, and whatever your future holds, and whoever it is with, I will be looking down on you with my love and wishing you well.”

Robin crumpled against Charlie, who held him, and they both savored the closeness of each other, pressed it and shaped it like a diamond, to be kept for a treasured memory.