‘Ashes to ashes ...’
Desperately trying to emulate the impassive, fixed expression on his brother’s face, Jack stood stiffly next to Martin. He braced himself as the vicar stooped, took a handful of earth from the mound behind them, and dropped it into the open grave, but he shuddered uncontrollably when the clods hailed down on to the casket lid. Much as he didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop himself from looking downwards as he struggled to absorb the reality that his mother was dead, her body in the coffin at the bottom of the pit, and even as he looked he felt himself falling ...
Someone stepped forward and caught him as he began to sway. He saw Martin turn his head, but half carrying, half supporting him, Roy Williams drew him away from his brother, back through the crowd of sober-suited men towards a bench overlooking the site.
‘I’m all right ...’ Even his voice sounded distant.
‘Just sit for a moment, Jack.’ Roy pushed him on to the seat and placed his hand on the back of his neck, forcing his head down to the level of his knees.
‘I was all right ...’
‘There was no air with that crowd pressing round.’ Roy sat beside him and looked across towards the vicar and Martin. ‘I felt faint myself.’
Jack knew he was trying to be kind, he also knew he was lying. ‘I want to see ...’
‘We’ll go back when the service is over. Then you and Martin will be able to say your goodbyes in private.’
Jack leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. ‘Is Dad in prison, Mr Williams?’
‘In the station for questioning.’
‘You arranged it.’
‘There were some things that needed to be straightened out. It seemed a good time to do it.’
‘Thank you. He would have come here otherwise, and Martin and I ...’
‘You don’t have to explain how you feel about your father to me, Jack. And you have my word that I’ll do everything I can to make sure that he doesn’t bother you, Martin or Katie again.’
‘But you can’t lock him up and throw away the key.’
‘Unfortunately not. Much as I’d like to.’
Opening his eyes, Jack stared bleakly at his brother, white-faced, hands clenched into fists in front of him. ‘What’s going to happen to us, Mr Williams?’
‘If you mean you, Martin and Katie, nothing much, if I have my way.’
‘You’ll still rent us your basement?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Martin and I talked it over; we thought you wouldn’t want any of us near you after Dad ... after the way Mrs Evans died. And there’s Katie ...’
‘You’ve been listening to the gossips.’
‘People are saying it’s not right for Lily and Katie to be living in a house full of men.’
‘I know and that’s why I intend to do something about it.’ Roy rose to his feet as the mourners began to line up in front of Martin and the vicar to shake their hands. As he led Jack up the path towards the open grave he mulled over the wording of the question he intended to put to Joy Hunt tomorrow – just as soon as he’d buried Norah.
‘Martin, Jack, can I have a word?’ John Griffiths stopped the boys as they were about to step into the leading funeral car. ‘I know Katie was disappointed at not being allowed to come to her mother’s funeral...’
‘Men only,’ Jack muttered touchily, sensing criticism.
‘I’m not saying you should have allowed her to come, Jack, but I wondered if you’d like to bring her back now. By the time we get to Carlton Terrace and drive out here again they will have filled in the grave. Katie can see where it is, look at the flowers and read the cards for herself.’
‘Thank you, Mr Griffiths, that would be very kind of you,’ Martin accepted gratefully. He’d been dreading the funeral ‘tea’ back at Roy’s house almost as much as he had another bout of Katie’s rage at not being allowed to go to her own mother’s funeral.
‘I’ll see you there.’ John climbed into his car and unlocked the passenger door for Joe. ‘Perhaps you’d like to do the same for Lily tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I would, thank you for suggesting it, Dad.’
‘You and Lily ...’
‘I’m serious about her,’ Joe broke in as John turned the ignition. ‘I’m going to ask her to marry me.’
‘You’ve only been out with her a couple of times.’
‘I’ve known her most of my life.’
‘Marriage is a big step to take and an enormous leap from friendship. Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ Joe repeated emphatically. ‘And with her future being so uncertain now Mrs Evans is dead, I intend to ask her as soon as I can and buy her an engagement ring. That would make my feelings clear and give her something settled to look forward to. Depending on my degree, which I should get, although I’m not sure about the first my tutor’s tipped me for, I’ve a job lined up with the BBC in Llandaff ...’
‘You never said,’ John interrupted.
‘I didn’t want another row with Mum.’
‘Who wants you to teach.’
‘Precisely. You’re not angry with me for accepting it?’
‘Anything but. It’s an excellent opportunity in a well-respected organisation. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, Joe, and it seems to me you’re going the right way about it.’
‘I thought Lily and I could marry when I graduate. I’ll be twenty-one by then so I’ll have full access to my trust fund. I checked the figures and there’s more than enough money to buy a house and a car.’
‘So you’ll be engaged for what – a year?’
‘Ten months. It’s a long time but I’d prefer to put our relationship on a formal footing.’
‘Because you’re afraid Roy will send her away, or someone else might snap her up?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
‘What about Robin’s sister?’
‘It was never serious between us.’
‘That’s not the impression I had when she left for London at the beginning of the summer.’
‘It was just a passing fancy. Lily is the real thing.’
John wasn’t as convinced as Joe that Lily was the girl he should marry, especially after such a short courtship, but he also realised there was no way he could stop Joe asking Lily to marry him, or giving her an engagement ring if she accepted his proposal. And if his misgivings proved right, and Joe was more in love with the idea of Lily and marriage than Lily herself, a ten-month engagement would give him time to find out.
‘I’m glad you feel that way, Joe, but you’d better be prepared for some argument, because your mother won’t be very happy when she finds out.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Like your job at the BBC, I don’t mind. In fact, I’m pleased.’
‘Pleased enough to argue my case with Mum?’
‘I’ll try, but you know as well as me that I can’t promise you anything there.’
As he’d hoped, the number of mourners had dwindled in Roy Williams’ house by the time John returned from his second trip to Morriston cemetery with Martin, Jack and Katie. Mindful of the coffin in the parlour that awaited burial the next day, he made his excuses to Roy who met them at the door and went into his own house. To his surprise, Esme was sitting alone in the lounge.
‘I thought you were helping next door.’ He went to the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a whisky.
‘Not many came back after the funeral.’
‘A lot more will turn out for tomorrow’s.’
‘Norah had a wider circle of friends,’ she agreed.
‘Where are the children?’ Taking the glass, he sat opposite her.
‘With Lily and Judy next door. Helen told me you’d given her permission to go out again.’
‘I told you I would.’
‘She’ll never learn discipline ...’
‘Let’s agree to disagree on that subject, Esme. I think we have more important things to discuss.’
‘More important than our daughter?’
‘I want a divorce.’
‘I’ll never divorce you,’ she said flatly.
‘I saw a solicitor this morning. It will be easier with your consent, but if you refuse to give it, I’ll still press ahead, Esme.’
‘I won’t leave you, or this house.’
‘Not even if I bring a court case against you for restoration of conjugal rights?’
‘You wouldn’t dare. You ...’
‘Wouldn’t go into the witness box and say that you and I lead completely separate lives and you haven’t slept in my bed for eighteen years? Try me, Esme.’
‘You want me to move back into your bedroom, risk getting pregnant ...’
‘You’re missing the point. I want a divorce, not you in my bed. And if you give me no choice but to use the courts to get one, I will.’
‘And if you do succeed in divorcing me? What then? Where do you expect me to go, what do you expect me to do? I ...’
‘I’ll give you the shop in Mumbles. It’s freehold, a profitable concern, and there’s a flat above it that I’ve just refurbished.’
‘You forced me to live here after I was used to a detached house in Langland but you can’t force me to live above a shop. I won’t do it.’ Her voice rose hysterically. ‘I simply won’t.’
‘You can sell the shop, run it, or live there as you please. I’ll also continue to give you half your present allowance.’
‘Last time we spoke you said I could have the full amount.’
‘If you prefer, you can have that and I’ll keep the shop. Think about it, Esme, because one way or another I intend to get on with my life and I can’t do that while I’m tied to you.’
‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’
‘I only wish there were. If there had been I might have come to my senses and done this years ago.’
‘I can’t believe you’re putting me in this position. You know perfectly well that no woman’s reputation can survive the scandal of a divorce.’
‘Not even if her husband leaves her for another woman?’
‘Then there is someone else.’
‘Not in my life.’ He studied her, but if there was anyone else in hers she gave no indication that he could read. ‘The solicitor suggested the quickest and simplest solution is I book into a hotel and hire a girl and a photographer. For about a hundred pounds they’ll furnish me with all the evidence you’ll need to divorce me for adultery.’
‘You’d be prepared to go to bed with a total stranger to divorce me?’
‘Pretend, Esme, like you on stage.’ He couldn’t resist making the comparison. ‘It would leave your reputation intact.’
‘Except with the people who’ll blame me for forcing you to look elsewhere for what you couldn’t get at home.’
‘Now that would be nearer the truth.’
‘And the business?’
‘There isn’t another warehouse like mine in Swansea. I’m prepared to take the risk that it will survive any gossip about my private life.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Finishing his drink, he left his chair. ‘I’m going to the warehouse. If anyone wants me I’ll be there. In the meantime I suggest you see a solicitor.’ He walked out quickly so she wouldn’t see how much effort it had cost him finally to confront her.
‘Katie, what on earth are you doing here?’ John asked, as he walked into the office and saw her sitting at her desk.
‘Working.’
He took the invoice ledger from her hands and laid it on the desk. ‘Not today, you’re not.’
‘But I want to, Mr Griffiths. I can’t stand it ...’ She burst into floods of tears and Rosie took her in her arms.
‘Help her to the sofa. I’ll get one of the girls on the shop floor to make some tea and bring up a couple of aspirins.’ Walking into his office, he picked up the telephone and ordered tea. It arrived a few minutes later. Shortly afterwards, Katie’s sobs subsided and he could hear the soft murmur of Rosie’s voice. He glanced up at the clock: half past five, half an hour to go. It had been a long day.
‘Mr Griffiths, it’s six o’clock.’
‘So it is, Rosie. Time you were off home.’
‘Katie’s fallen asleep on the sofa. Shall I wake her?’
‘No, there’s no need. I have another hour or two’s work here. I’ll telephone her landlord and he’ll tell her brothers where she is.’
‘See you in the morning, Mr Griffiths.’ Rosie picked up the post. John telephoned Roy and followed Rosie downstairs to supervise the closing of the warehouse. When he returned at half past six, Katie was still fast asleep. Reluctant to disturb her, he settled back in his office with the account books. He had been meaning to update them for some time and it suddenly seemed as good a time as any.
It was half past eight when John made the last entry. Telephoning Roy again, he told him that he was waking Katie and would take her for a meal to save Lily the trouble of cooking her something. He walked into the sitting area and looked at Katie while she slept. Her hair was tousled over the cushion Rosie had placed beneath her head, her cheeks wet with tears. He wondered if she was even crying in her sleep.
As he watched, she suddenly opened her eyes; panic-stricken, she stared up at him.
‘You’re safe, Katie,’ he murmured reassuringly. ‘You’re in the office. You were upset, Rosie helped you here and you went to sleep.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Griffiths.’
‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I’m only sorry that I woke you, but I thought you’d better eat. It’s half past eight, the restaurants will stop serving in half an hour or so. I told Roy and your brothers that I’m taking you out for a meal,’ he explained in answer to her quizzical look.
‘There’s no need ...’
‘I’m hungry too, Katie. Go and wash your face and brush your hair. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.’
John drove Katie to the Mermaid Hotel in Mumbles. It had an upstairs dining room that Esme had liked visiting in the first months after their marriage but he had been too self-conscious of his disfigurement in those days to enjoy eating out. It was strange how much time he had spent worrying about his appearance then and how he hardly ever considered it now.
‘I’ve never eaten in a restaurant,’ Katie confided as she sat tensely in the front seat of John’s car. She had been in the car several times but only when Joe had been driving and always in the back seat with Judy or Helen or both of them, and much as she respected and admired her boss, the intimacy of the front seat made her uneasy.
‘Then I hope this will be the first of many meals out you’ll enjoy.’ He parked the car in front of the hotel, helped her out of her seat and walked inside. Nodding to the receptionist in the office on the right, he led the way up the stairs and along the corridor. The waitress met them with menus at the door but as he stepped into the room he froze. Esme was sitting in the corner at a table for two. She had her back to him, a man he’d never seen before opposite her. As he memorised his features, the man reached across the table and placed his hand over Esme’s in an intimate gesture that confirmed every suspicion he’d ever had about her late-night absences.
‘Sorry.’ He stepped back quickly, treading on Katie’s toes.
‘Sir?’ The waitress was taken aback when he took the menu from Katie and handed it to her, together with his own.
‘We’ve changed our minds.’ Turning on his heel, he almost ran back down the stairs with Katie following in his wake. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he apologised, uncertain whether Katie had seen Esme or not. ‘There are other restaurants ...’
‘To be honest, I’d prefer fish and chips, Mr Griffiths.’
‘Eaten out of newspaper?’ He smiled.
‘Yes, please.’
‘I know just the place to buy them and the perfect spot to eat them.’
‘I’d forgotten what real fish and chips taste like.’ John screwed his wrappings into a ball and dropped them on the floor of the back of the car. ‘Thank you for a brilliant suggestion.’
‘I used to buy them on the way home on Friday nights for Mam ...’
‘I keep telling you it’s all right to cry,’ he sympathised as she turned away.
‘But I hate breaking down all the time and you’ve been so kind.’ She stared resolutely ahead as she struggled to compose herself.
‘It will gradually get better, although I doubt anyone completely recovers from the loss of someone they love. I still miss my parents and grandparents. Every time I visit their graves I talk to them, tell them about my life and what I’m doing. I have no idea if they are listening, but it helps me to think that they are. Which reminds me, did your brother show you the catalogue I gave him of headstones?’
‘Yes, Mr Griffiths, we chose a plain black marble headstone. I hope that will be all right, I had no idea they were so expensive.’
‘And I hope you and your brothers didn’t choose it on cost, Katie.’
‘No, it was one of the cheapest but we settled on it because it was the plainest. Mam was never one for frills and fancy.’
‘Then there’ll probably be some insurance money left.’
‘If there is, Martin and Jack think we should set it aside for the upkeep of Mam’s grave. How soon will we be able to put the headstone on her plot, Mr Griffiths?’
‘Four to six months is about usual, Katie. It will take that long for the ground to settle.’
‘I miss her so much and every time I talk or think about her I can’t stop crying. I feel so stupid ...’
‘Don’t.’ John handed her a clean handkerchief. ‘And don’t try to keep the tears in. It will only make you feel worse. There’s no shame in crying. My parents were killed when I was eleven and I was still breaking down ten years after we buried them.’
‘Killed – that must have been horrible.’
‘We lived in Oxford Street. Our house caught fire one night when we were in bed. I was in the back bedroom and a neighbour rescued me by climbing on to the kitchen roof. But the fire was too intense for him to reach my parents. We could hear them, but we couldn’t reach them. Then the ceiling collapsed on top of us. If it hadn’t been for the neighbour dragging me out I would have died. As it is’ – he paused for a few seconds – ‘I was left as you see me now.’
‘The scars on your face, your leg and arm ...’
‘Didn’t you know I’d been crippled in a fire?’
‘No, Mr Griffiths.’
‘I assumed everyone in the street knew.’
‘If they do, they never talk about it.’
‘Which goes to show Carlton Terrace is not the hive of gossip I took it to be.’
‘Mam always used to say some things shouldn’t be talked about. Like people’s disabilities and failings.’
‘Your mother sounds like a very kind woman, Katie. I wish I’d taken the trouble to get to know her better.’
‘Dad wouldn’t have liked that. He didn’t – doesn’t like us talking to anyone outside of the family.’
‘Didn’t, Katie. Hasn’t Roy told you that he has had a restraining order put on your father to prevent him from even walking into Carlton Terrace?’
‘Yes,’ she answered in a small voice.
‘But you’re still afraid of him.’
‘I’ll always be afraid of him, Mr Griffiths. He ... he ... no matter what the law says, I think he killed my mother and Mrs Evans.’
‘A lot of people would agree with you on that.’
‘Marty says that he and Jack can protect me but they can’t watch over me twenty-four hours a day, any more than they could over Mam.’
‘But unlike your mother you’re never alone, Katie. Think about it. You live with Lily, and even when Roy works the night shift your brothers and Brian are downstairs. And when you’re in work you have a whole warehouse full of people around you.’
‘I know. I’m just being silly.’ She didn’t sound reassured and as he glanced at her he could see fear lurking behind the outwardly composed facade.
‘Come on, time to take you home. Can you eat any more of those fish and chips?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Griffiths. You bought far too much.’
‘I didn’t, Katie, you eat far too little.’
As he took the parcel from her she began to cry again. He held out his arms and she clung to him.
‘I’ve never met anyone like you before, Mr Griffiths. You’re good and kind ...’
‘No more than most, Katie.’
‘Yes, you are,’ she said fiercely. Lifting her tearstained face to his, she kissed him hard and inexpertly on the mouth.
‘Katie, you’re overwrought, you don’t know what you’re doing.’ Shocked, he held her back at arm’s length.
‘Yes, I do. Lily always told me that I would meet a man I would want to kiss one day. I never believed her but ...’
‘She meant a boy, Katie, not a married man with two children older than you.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you ...’
‘No, you haven’t, Katie, Not at all.’ He turned the ignition and reversed the car, swinging it in a wide arc until it faced the main road.
‘I’m sorry ...’
‘And stop apologising.’ He sounded harsher than he’d intended.
‘Can I keep my job?’
‘Of course. Let’s forget it ever happened, shall we?’ But even as he smiled across at her he was making a mental resolution never to put himself into a situation where he would be alone with little Katie Clay again. She might look like a child but the kiss she had just given him had stirred emotions he’d almost forgotten he possessed.
‘Lily, would you butter the bread, please? And, Katie, if you’d slice the fruit and Madeira cake, but not too thinly,’ Mrs Lannon warned, mindful of the economies Annie Clay had been forced to practise all her married life and had undoubtedly instilled in her daughter. She paused by the kitchen door to reassure herself that the girls were setting about their tasks competently before bustling into the dining room to check the progress of the buffet. The mourners were due back from Oxwich cemetery in the next half-hour and she intended to have food on the table and tea brewed before they walked through the door.
‘Who decided funerals should be men only?’ Katie asked, mutinously slicing a block of Madeira cake into half-inch wedges.
‘I have no idea.’ Lily was even angrier than Katie because it was her aunt’s funeral they were missing. She’d pleaded with her uncle to allow her and Katie to attend both funerals and when he’d categorically refused, she’d begged that at least Katie be allowed to attend her mother’s and she Norah’s. The ‘quiet word’ she’d envisaged had developed into the closest to a quarrel they’d ever had, but he’d remained obdurate, insisting she and Katie remain at home ‘with the ladies’ on both occasions.
‘Jack said it was because women faint at funerals. But I wouldn’t have fainted, and I had just as much right to say goodbye to Mam yesterday as Marty and him, instead of sitting here making sandwiches for a load of people who didn’t even know my mother, but could go to her funeral just because they’re men.’
‘Mrs Jordan sent us in here to fill the kettles and set them on the stove to boil in readiness. But I think the “grown-ups” want to talk about things we children are too young to understand,’ Judy sniped as she and Helen joined them.
‘I’d rather be in here than sit with that lot. Well, I would,’ Katie snapped, in response to a look from Judy. ‘It’s my mother and Lily’s aunt who have died and everyone is treating us as if we’re babies. Have you noticed the sudden silence when either of us walks into a room? And I’ve had more tearful hugs in the last week from people who couldn’t be bothered to say hello to me when Mam was alive than I’ve had since I was born. And here we are, Lily buttering mountains of bread and me slicing cake as if we’re preparing for a party, not mourning my mother’s and Auntie Norah’s passing. Damn it, every time one of the neighbours looks at us, I can almost hear them say it.’
‘What?’ Judy asked, taken aback by Katie’s outburst and the first swear word she’d heard her say.
‘Poor orphans.’
‘You’re not orphans, you still have ...’ Helen faltered awkwardly. ‘Your brothers and Lily’s Uncle Roy,’ she finished lamely.
‘Brothers can’t replace a mother.’ Katie cut down savagely on the cake.
‘Want some help, Lily?’ Judy pulled a chair up to the table.
‘I suppose so.’ Lily opened the drawer in the kitchen table and handed Judy a knife. Picking up yet another piece of bread, she suddenly dropped the knife she was using. ‘Katie’s right, this is nothing to do with her mam or my Auntie Norah. Who cares if the men have enough to eat? As far as I’m concerned they can starve – except Uncle Roy and Katie’s brothers. And your father, Helen,’ she added, ashamed of herself for leaving out Mr Griffiths. He’d called every day since her aunt had died, checking arrangements had been made and, when they hadn’t, taking it upon himself to complete them.
‘This last week has all been about other people,’ Katie agreed. ‘What they think should be eaten after the service, what hymns they think are suitable to be played in the church. Marty tried telling the vicar that Mam’s favourite hymn was “All Things Bright and Beautiful” but the vicar insisted it was unsuitable for a funeral and pencilled in “ The Lord is my Shepherd”, although both Marty and Jack told him Mam hated it. The flowers were just the same ...’
‘You and your brothers did get to choose your own flowers, didn’t you, Katie?’ Judy broke in. She had overheard Helen’s mother muttering ‘stupid extravagant waste’ after Mr Griffiths had telephoned the florist on Katie’s and her brothers’ behalf.
‘Marty and I knew Mam liked roses better than any other flower but ...’ Katie fought back the tears she’d had little control over since her mother’s death. ‘Some of the neighbours thought white roses a terrible waste of money. If it hadn’t been for Mr Griffiths insisting that I knew my own mother best, I think Mam would have had a wreath of dandelions on her coffin.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, Helen.’
‘But it is my mother’s. She thinks she always knows best.’
‘She means well.’ Pushing the butter away, Lily sat back in her chair. ‘And us moaning all the time doesn’t help. Katie and I are just touchy.’
‘You’ve every right to be.’ Judy shaved the last piece of bread from the crust on the table.
‘Are you going to move downstairs with your brothers now, Katie?’ Helen shifted a stack of buttered bread on to a plate and started cutting the slices into neat triangles.
‘Uncle Roy thinks it would be better if Katie carried on living here for the time being. He says we can talk it over again when Brian moves out.’
‘Brian is moving out?’
In spite of the pain that had gnawed at her ever since Roy had told her Norah was dead, Lily managed a small smile at the look of horror on Judy’s face. ‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Marty and Jack only let him live with them on the understanding that he’d have to leave when my mother ...’ Katie didn’t cry but a shudder ran through her body. Lily wrapped her arm round her shoulders. The door opened and Martin and Jack walked in. Lily immediately left her chair so Martin could take her place at his sister’s side.
‘Judy, we’re waiting for the tea,’ Joy called impatiently from the dining room.
‘Helen and I are sorting it, Mam,’ Judy answered.
‘Lily, the bread and butter?’ Esme reminded, sticking her head round the kitchen door.
‘Judy is bringing it out. I have to talk to Uncle Roy, Mrs Griffiths.’
‘Katie ...’
‘Isn’t feeling well, Mrs Griffiths. We’re taking her downstairs.’ Martin and Jack escorted their sister through the door and headed for the basement stairs.
‘Well!’ Esme looked after their retreating figures. ‘I thought those two would appreciate being kept busy.’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Griffiths.’ Judy handed her a full plate of bread and butter and picked up a second from the table. ‘You’ve still got Helen and me to boss around.’
‘It went well, Lily. The hymns were beautiful and the service moving. I think Norah would have approved if she’d been there.’
‘She wouldn’t have been allowed to go,’ Lily pointed out ungraciously, still smarting at her uncle’s refusal to allow her to attend the funeral.
‘I take it you’ve had a difficult time here.’ Roy guided Lily towards the only quiet room on the ground floor, the parlour.
‘No, everyone’s trying to be kind but ...’
‘You don’t have to say any more, love.’
The parlour looked empty and bereft now the second coffin had been removed. Seeing a white carnation on the floor of the bay, Lily stooped and picked it up. ‘I can’t believe I won’t see Auntie Norah again – ever.’
‘Neither can I, love.’
‘The food’s ready, Roy. Shall I get you and Lily a plateful?’ Esme hovered at the open door in a black sack dress of moiré silk more suited to a cocktail party than a funeral. Her only concession to the occasion was a wisp of apron concocted from hand-made lace and fine lawn.
Lily had always been a little afraid of and intimidated by Joe’s mother. Now she felt simply irritated. ‘No thank you, Mrs Griffiths.’
Esme looked expectantly at Roy.
‘No thank you, Esme, I’ll be out shortly.’
‘Shall I ask Joy to pour your tea and bring it in?’
‘Not for a minute.’ Roy was having trouble keeping his equanimity. Since the moment the doctor had pronounced Norah dead he felt he had been surrounded by well-meaning, interfering women, hell-bent on taking over his life.
‘I’ll tell everyone you’d like to be left alone then, shall I?’ Esme closed the door on them.
‘I think she’s miffed,’ Lily whispered as Esme tugged the door until the lock gave a final definitive click.
‘I’ll pacify her later. You eaten?’ Roy asked.
‘No. I’m not hungry. I’ll eat after ...’
‘Everyone’s left,’ Roy finished for her. ‘I want our life to get back to normal too, Lily, but I’m afraid there isn’t going to be a normal for us, not now Norah’s gone.’ He gave her a brief hug. ‘You want to go in there with me?’
‘Not really.’
‘We’ll need this room as well as the dining room, but not before the furniture’s been shifted back.’ He pulled an easy chair away from the wall and dragged it on to the rug, positioning it exactly over the dents the castors had made in the thick pile.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jordan and Mrs Hunt wanted to see to it earlier, but I wouldn’t let them.’
‘Then how about you giving me a hand to do it now? Afterwards, you can go down to the garden and sit on Norah’s bench while I make small talk and thank everyone for coming.’
‘Wouldn’t that be rather cowardly of me?’
‘There isn’t anyone here you won’t be seeing again. I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well. If they don’t understand that you need to be alone, they’re not worth bothering with. Now take the other end of that table. Careful now, it might be a bit heavy.’