The director of the funeral home was a small woman, sombrely dressed but efficient, as was fitting for her role. Her voice managed to convey sympathy without pity, while still maintaining the neutral tone required of a business transaction. I wondered how long it had taken her to perfect it.
She seemed surprised that I’d come alone, offered me a beverage and sent her assistant to fetch it before settling in to the matter at hand. A civil ceremony, I told her, traditional floral arrangements, no hymns, but a couple of Oma’s favourite classical pieces, ‘Für Elise’, which she’d told me her grandmother used to play for her when she was a child, and Handel’s ‘Air’ from ‘Water Music’. A poem from Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring, one that reminded me of Opa, his strength, his resilience, his determination to make a new life for himself after the war. The eulogy would be given by a celebrant. It was not something I was prepared to do, and there was no one else. I told her about their lives, their journey to Australia, their hobbies, their passions.
I heard her voice, answered her questions automatically. The words seemed to come from someone other than myself, distant, disassociated from the person I was.
She wrote it all down, accepted the clothes that I’d brought for her, and the photos of Oma and Opa to be displayed. I’d spent hours poring over the photo albums trying to choose them, lost in the memories they drew forth.
Finally she pulled out a folder, spread it before me. A catalogue of caskets. The reality hit then. This was where they would lie for the final time. In these boxes, shut in the dark forever. I closed my eyes, willed the tears away, then pointed to the one at the top of the page – most popular, it said.
‘That one. In mahogany.’
‘An excellent choice,’ she said, closing the folder and putting it away out of sight.
I wanted to jump up and run out of the room, escape her measured, monotone voice, the cloying smell of the lilies on her desk, the soft music. Instead I signed the paperwork and gave her my credit card, waiting impatiently while she put it though her EFTPOS machine.
I hurried to my car when we were done. There was a sick feeling in my stomach, the taint of death, renewed grief. I would have been happy never to have set foot in the place again. But I knew that wasn’t possible.
~
The funeral was held on a Monday, a cold dreary winter’s day such as you only see in Adelaide a couple times a year. I woke, oblivious to everything but the sound of rain on the roof, the surf pounding on the beach and the wind howling through the trees.
A glance out the window showed that it was early, the dark of night yet to give way to the breaking of dawn behind the clouds. Slowly I showered and dressed in the outfit I’d chosen: a black pantsuit I’d bought for the launch of Seven Years to Life, with a gold brooch Oma had given me for my twenty-first birthday pinned to the lapel. My hair I swept up into a knot at the base of my neck, pinning the stray strands firmly behind my ears.
Surveying myself in the mirror, it was as if I was looking at a stranger, a pale replica of myself; the pantsuit hanging loosely, my eyes over-large and shadowed in my face. I smoothed on a thin layer of foundation, but it did nothing to alleviate the ghoulish effect which I suspected was more a result of my mood than my wardrobe choice.
Opa’s box of paperwork lay on my desk, the three items I’d found hidden at the bottom now lying on the top of the pile. I picked up the letter, so light, a barely discernible weight in my hand. Just holding it made me feel closer to them. And the key. I couldn’t recall ever seeing it before. It was small, and I sensed it, too, was quite old. Was it something they’d brought with them from Germany? I clasped my hand around it, feeling it nestle into the palm of my hand. It was strangely comforting.
The brown package was also old; the paper crackled as I picked it up. A memento, perhaps, from Grete to Karl? Or from his parents? Carefully I removed the string and unwrapped it. I caught my breath when I saw what was inside: a war medal – an iron cross, emblazoned with the Nazi swastika. It was the last thing I would have thought to find, but why not? It was no secret that Opa had fought in the war, fought for the Germans. Nevertheless, I carefully wrapped it again and tucked it back under the pile of paperwork. Opa had never spoken of it, had rarely spoken of the war at all. If he’d kept it hidden all these years, I would respect his wishes to keep it private.
It left a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, though, and I stroked my finger over the letter again, before placing it carefully back in the box with the key. There was so much I didn’t know about my grandparents. I’d known them only in their later years, seen them from the self-centred perspective of a child. Inside that letter were two people I’d never known, who I wanted to know, to bring those people to life in my memories, make my grandparents complete, something I should have done a long time ago. Not just now that I was about to say goodbye to them for the final time.
A text came in from Ellis, saying he’d be waiting for me outside the funeral home. I was about to text back when the phone rang.
‘You okay?’ asked Jason.
‘No,’ I said, head bowed, resting my elbows on the table. ‘I don’t want to do this.’
‘Oh, babe. I’m sorry.’
I took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘It’s okay. I’ll get through it.’
‘I wish you’d stayed here last night.’
‘I needed to be home.’ Where I was close to Oma and Opa. I’d thought about them all night.
‘Do you want me to come down and get you?’
I would have liked that more than anything. To have someone take over, guide me through this day. Let me zone out and pretend it wasn’t happening.
‘There’s not enough time,’ I said, rising heavily to my feet. There was a drag on my limbs that made the slightest move an effort. ‘I’ll meet you at your place.’
As I was locking the front door, Bronte came trotting over from the neighbours’ and rubbed against my legs. I picked her up, cuddled her close. ‘I’d stay home with you today if I could,’ I murmured into her fur. ‘Believe me.’ Reluctantly, I put her down and got in the car.
Driving into the city, I focused on the road, purposely avoiding thinking of anything but the traffic and the bitumen rolling beneath the wheels of my car. The radio was silent, the banter and joviality of the DJs offensive to my mood. Still, when I arrived in North Adelaide, I had little recall of the trip.
We drove to the funeral home in Jason’s Audi, the roof drawn up against the cold, heat pouring from the air-conditioning vents. Jason was edgy, gripping the steering wheel tightly, while I shivered in the passenger seat, unable to get warm.
Ellis was waiting outside as promised. I got out of the sports car, stumbled in my heels, and he rushed forward to steady me.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I said, gripping his hand tightly.
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’ His face was grave and tense. ‘Did you get my text?’
I nodded, and he glanced at Jason, who had come around from his side of the car.
‘I’ll talk to you after,’ Ellis said. His hand slipped out of mine as he turned away.
Jason put his arm around me. ‘Ready?’
‘No,’ I whispered, but moved towards the entrance to the chapel nevertheless.
The quiet murmur of conversation gradually died as Jason and I walked down the centre aisle, like a macabre foreshadow of the wedding walk I would never take with Opa. A sea of figures clad in black filled the pews: friends, neighbours, members of the German Club, former employees, a couple of people from my writers’ group. And many, many strangers, men and women of all ages; an elderly man with weepy eyes who might have been an old customer from Opa’s bakery; a well-dressed woman in a silk blouse who looked more like one of Jason’s lawyer friends than an acquaintance of my grandparents; even Detectives Norton and Romanos were there. It wasn’t until I reached my seat at the front and registered the weight of disappointment that I realised I was looking for Lily. Jason’s hand tightened on my arm as I collapsed on my seat, avoiding looking at the empty chair beside me that should have been hers.
The service was a blur. The proceedings carried on around me as I stared at the two caskets, each with a floral arrangement and a framed photo on top. I imagined my grandparents lying beneath the closed lids, Oma, in her favourite dress with the floral print that she’d worn to my university graduation and every one of my book launches, and Opa in his suit, the only one he had ever owned, bought for my parents’ wedding, and worn at every special occasion since. The air was thick with emotion, stifled weeping, well-meaning glances of pity and sympathy, all of it pressing in on me. Only Jason’s solid presence beside me allowed me to get through it with the dignity I knew my grandparents would have expected and deserved.
Afterwards, I stood in the reception room, a cup of untouched tea on the table beside me, as people approached, offering their sympathy. Luka Novak, my mother’s godfather, hugged me for a long time, tears in his eyes when he stepped back, silently, and shuffled away. Marco Bianchi, the general manager for Opa’s bakeries, murmured his sympathies and engulfed me in his ample embrace. The well-dressed woman I’d noticed earlier introduced herself as the daughter of an old friend of Opa’s and shook my hand. Oma’s hairdresser, Leah, touched my arm, her eyes red and puffy. ‘She was such a dear,’ she said.
All those people, many I’d never seen before, all wanting to pay their respects, have a word with the next of kin, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, a hand on the shoulder. All wanting a piece of me. Their condolences, meant to comfort, only emphasised my solitude. Surrounded by all those people, I felt totally alone, and that wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
A touch on my arm and Jason was beside me. ‘I’m going to have to get back to the office.’
I blinked at him, didn’t say anything.
‘A meeting with Frank Slater. I’m sorry, Juliet.’
I cleared my throat. ‘That’s okay. I get it.’
He squeezed my arm, kissed my cheek. The same cheek that had been kissed by every other attendee at the funeral. I watched him walk away.
Gradually they left, in ones and twos, until only Ellis remained.
‘You look like you need something stronger than tea,’ he said.
~
‘Do you want to know the irony of it all?’ I said to Ellis much later, after we were safely ensconced in a booth at the back of a dimly lit tavern. The bar was his choice this time, a little pub tucked away in a heritage hotel two blocks off the beach. We were on our second round of drinks. ‘Opa left Lily money. Enough to satisfy both her and Earl.’ I twirled my wine glass between my fingers and laughed bitterly. ‘If he’d given it to her in the first place, none of this would have happened. And she couldn’t even be bothered to show up at their funeral.’
‘Couldn’t be bothered or was too scared?’ said Ellis as I took a sip of the wine. It tasted dry and bitter, a fitting tribute to the day.
I shrugged. ‘Does it make a difference?’
‘Of course it does, Jules.’ The hand he placed over mine was warm, and I didn’t want him to let go. Although there was a fire in the hearth that gave the room a comfortable glow, it seemed to give off very little heat. I felt as if I would never be warm again. ‘Lily would have been there if she could, you know that.’
That’s what I’d thought too. But she hadn’t shown up and I was in no mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘Do I? I’m not so sure.’
‘Give her some credit.’ His hand squeezed mine. ‘I think she must be in real trouble if she didn’t attend her own grandparents’ funeral.’
I met his gaze frankly. ‘Or maybe she just wanted to avoid the detectives. Why do you think they showed up?’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything different,’ he said. ‘There’s been a murder, two murders. It’s what they do.’
‘Hmph. Where did you learn that? Law and Order?’
He took his hand away and I immediately regretted the sarcasm. He deserved better than that. It was only chance that had thrown us together again after so many years, and yet I’d grabbed onto him like a lifeline, dragged him back into my mess of a life and clung on with a stranglehold that he had no hope of breaking. I took another sip of my wine. A large one.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You’re trying to help, and I’m being a bitch.’
‘You said it, not me.’
I could see he was suppressing a grin and I had to laugh, although it was the last thing I felt like doing. The funeral had taken more out of me than I imagined, the reception afterwards almost as much as the service. I felt drained.
‘Enough about my problems,’ I said. ‘Let’s change the subject. What are you doing these days? Tell me about you.’
‘What’s to tell?’ he said, spreading his hands helplessly.
‘Oh, come on. Have you written the Great Australian Novel yet? Are you married? Got any kids?’
He chuckled. ‘I’m sticking to journalism these days. And no. No wife, no kids.’
I let my breath out, unaware that I’d been holding it. ‘You had plans to go to Europe last time I saw you. At Oma and Opa’s fiftieth, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
I watched his face while he told me about his time in London, an internship and then part-time work on a magazine. It was what he’d talked about as a kid: working overseas, seeing the world. It seemed his dreams had been realised, and yet I didn’t hear or see the passion for it that I would have expected.
‘Why did you come back to Adelaide?’
He hesitated, studying his beer, then glanced up at me. ‘London life wasn’t for me. Not the work and not the hustle.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess I’m just an Aussie boy at heart.’
I smiled in agreement and finished my wine.
As we drove back to Jason’s to pick up my car, my thoughts drifted again to Lily. Why hadn’t she come to the funeral? I’d thought she would be there. Why else would she have asked me about it? Was it just Lily being Lily or had something happened? She’d gone missing before, so why did this feel different?
She’d been scared, for one thing. Totally freaked out about those phone calls, and the people stalking her . . . but not scared enough to go to the police. It wasn’t until she knew they wanted to talk to her that she’d run. Would seeing them have kept her from attending the funeral? And then there was Earl and the twenty grand they owed. Maybe she was hiding from him. Or whomever they owed the money to.
But my gut was telling me it wasn’t that. I couldn’t get past the coincidence that she’d put the ring up for sale days before Oma and Opa were murdered.
Ellis pulled his car over to the curb behind my Beetle and turned the ignition off. He hesitated before he spoke. ‘Look, maybe it’s none of my business, but have you spoken to the detectives about Lily?’
I grimaced. He’d always been perceptive.
‘Not in the last couple of days, but they took her phone, and I told them about the calls.’
‘And the PI?’
‘There’s been no word from her.’
He paused, frowning through the windshield at the back of my car. ‘I was just thinking about those calls. Germany, Sydney, Adelaide . . . almost like they were homing in on a signal . . .’
‘Following it straight to Lily? Jesus.’ The thought chilled me.
He shot me a look. ‘Sorry, Jules, I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sure Lily’s fine. She’s probably just gone into hiding, like she’s done before.’
I nodded, but my instincts were telling me it wasn’t so. Lily was in trouble, and I needed to find her.