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Thursday 10 September

When I got home, I went into the kitchen, sat at the table and got out my scratch card. ‘OK God, you’re omnipresent – or, as they’d say in the Godfather movies, you’re connected – so now’s your chance to show what you can do and save my bacon.’ I scratched the card. Amazing! I’d won! Hallelujah. Two quid. All my troubles were over.

The phone rang, disturbing my reverie of what to do with my winnings. It was Fleur.

‘Not good news I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Rose called earlier. She says she won’t be party to Mum’s condition and is going to contest it.’

My heart sank. ‘Can she do that?’

‘She can but she won’t win. I’ve already spoken to a lawyer friend of mine. He said if she doesn’t have a valid reason to not meet the conditions of Mum’s will, she won’t get any inheritance.’

I groaned. ‘And neither will you or I. We all have to sign. If she doesn’t go along with it, that means no inheritance for any of us. She’s so selfish. She must know what her decision would mean for me.’

‘I know. I’m sorry Dee.’

*

I tried to call Rose but got the answering service. I felt so angry, I went straight over to Anna’s with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and the intention of getting very drunk.

‘Why did Rose call Fleur and not you?’ she asked on hearing the latest.

‘No idea.’ I found wine glasses in Anna’s cupboards and poured us both a large drink. ‘Maybe it was because she knows it wouldn’t be the end of the world to Fleur if she didn’t get her inheritance either. Fleur has her own money and so does Rose. Rose probably knew I’d give her a harder time for not taking part.’

‘They’d seriously let an inheritance like that go?’

‘Maybe, if it didn’t fit in with their plans.’ I knew that finances were hard for Anna too, and the thought of my two sisters waving goodbye to a life-changing sum was hard to take in.

Anna looked at me sympathetically. ‘I am sorry, Dee. Do they know how much you need the money?’

‘Fleur does now. I filled her in when she called about Rose.’

‘Get her to tell Rose.’

‘Rose won’t care. She only cares about herself and her family, and with both she and Hugh being high earners, I guess she can afford to say no. Either that or the thought of spending time with Fleur and me is so abhorrent to her.’

‘But you’re sisters. They can’t be that unfeeling.’

I took a gulp of wine. ‘What I feel or need doesn’t matter to either of them.’

‘Want me to make voodoo dolls of them both and stick pins in?’

‘Yes. No. We haven’t even begun Mum’s tasks and we’re already at war with each other.’

‘You’re going to have to call her Dee. Call her up and tell her how much it means to you.’

‘You mean beg. No. Never. You know what she can be like – what both of them can be like.’

Anna nodded. ‘You mean the funeral?’

‘And the reception. If we couldn’t be supportive of each other at times like that, it’s not going to happen now.’

*

It was back in July. I’d stood outside the open doors of the chapel in the blazing sunshine, Anna by my side, and watched the swarm of people go in and settle into their places. Some had been familiar, the last surviving friends of Mum’s; some family, distant relatives that I hadn’t seen for years. Rose, with Hugh and their two children, Simon and Laura, went in. I remember thinking that Simon would be in his third year at university; Laura, tall like her father, and stunning, in her first year. They’d grown so much since I’d last seen them. Rose was the petite one of my sisters, taking after Mum at five foot three. Hugh had put on weight and, with his thinning silver hair and rotund chest and belly, resembled a plump pigeon. Rose had got thinner and looked strained, but she was immaculate as always in a black dress as well cut as her hair. They didn’t see me on their way in.

Anna nudged me when she saw Rose. ‘Have you spoken to her lately?’

I shook my head. ‘She called a couple of times to talk over funeral arrangements and rub in how she was having to organize it all. Mum wrote out what she wanted years ago, even the hymns and prayers, though she wouldn’t reveal what. She’d said she wanted it to be a surprise and that she might get Jean to sing “Ave Maria”, which she would do magnificently out of tune, and Martha could throw away her walking stick and do some interpretive modern dance, like Marina Abramovi´c, the Yugoslavian performance artist who likes to fling herself at walls in her birthday suit. “That would make the vicar sit up,” she said.

‘And that wasn’t all. She said she might have “Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead” and an entourage of male strippers to carry her in.’

Anna laughed again, causing an old gentlemen to frown at us on his way inside. ‘I loved your mother.’

‘Despite her jokes, I am sure it will all be dignified and appropriate. Although eccentric at times, Mum had class and knew how to behave in public.’

‘Unlike us,’ said Anna, as the elderly man found a pew but turned and continued to stare.

‘When Rose called, she didn’t ask about my life at all. You’d have thought after so long she’d have had some interest.’

‘And did you ask about hers?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Then you can’t be too pissed off at her.’

I gave her arm a gentle pinch. ‘She made me feel crap for not sending Lucy the airfare to come from Australia, but she couldn’t have come even if I’d had the money – or maybe she could have but not for long enough to merit the cost of such a journey. Lucy likes to stay for weeks when she comes, have a proper stay. She’s got that planned for next year, after we’ve both had time to save up. I’ll send her what I can towards her fare. I always do. It’s OK for Rose, she and Hugh earn loads between them.’

‘You don’t have to defend yourself or Lucy to me, Dee.’

‘I know. Sorry. Guess we’d better go in.’

We went inside and took our places behind Rose and her family who were on the front pew. None of them turned around.

Fleur hovered at the back of the chapel when she arrived, but was soon ushered up to the end of our bench. Even in the tense atmosphere of the crematorium, people couldn’t help but turn to look at her. Like the rest of us, she was in black, a knee length A-line dress and cowboy boots.

‘Very rock chick,’ Anna commented.

‘That’s Fleur,’ I replied. She looked great, ten years younger than her forty-six years, like she’d been cracked fresh out of a polystyrene pack that morning, her body and legs toned and tanned, blonde hair just past her shoulders, beautifully cut and highlighted and her skin glowing – which was surprising, considering the amount she’d drunk and smoked in her life.

Glancing around, Fleur spotted me and we nodded, polite. Fleur stared at Anna, though. She too stood out in a crowd, but more because of the fuchsia-pink highlights she’d had put in last week. Today her funeral black dress was accessorized with ruby red lace-up boots and a pink pashmina.

It had been strange to see Fleur and Rose for the first time in three years, so familiar and yet so removed from my life now. Both of them looked like Mum and had her blue eyes and fine features, though Fleur was a couple of inches taller than Rose. I took after Dad, with the same honey-brown eyes and height.

‘Do I look like Morticia Addams?’ I whispered to Anna. I was wearing a long black dress and kimono-style black devoré jacket. I’d thought it looked appropriate but, next to my sisters, I wondered whether it was more fitting for a Goth party than a funeral.

‘From the movie? No. More like Lurch,’ Anna whispered back. ‘Stop worrying. You look fine.’

Anna was an only child and never fully got my feelings of inadequacy when faced with Rose or Fleur. They’d both had their place in our family clearly defined. Rose, the eldest, the brains; Fleur, the youngest, and with her perfect heart-shaped face, the beauty. When we were young, Rose was the quiet, studious one – secretive, even. Fleur was an open book, bouncing off the walls with energy and crazy ideas. When Mum talked about me, she’d smile and say, ah Daisy, my middle child; well she’s different, she’s the dreamer. I certainly felt like I was dreaming that day. Saying a final goodbye to Mum didn’t feel possible or real.

‘A good turn-out,’ Anna whispered as she looked around. ‘There must be well over a hundred people here, and it’s standing room only at the back.’

‘I don’t know who they all are. A lot of Mum’s friends have already died,’ I replied.

‘Good,’ said Anna, ‘then she’ll have someone she knows to show her round when she gets to the other side.’

‘Maybe,’ I replied. I was glad that I’d talked about death with Mum and knew that she didn’t fear it. She was always a positive soul, endlessly curious, her nose often in a book and – in latter years – her laptop. She was very computer savvy, Queen of the Silver Surfers, forever googling, ordering on line, booking weekends away in foreign resorts or spas until she was no longer able to travel. Every autumn, she’d signed up to learn a new skill. Over the years, she’d done life drawing, learnt Italian, flower arranging, Indian cookery, tango, yoga, meditation, to name a few. When she wasn’t doing one of her courses, she played piano, painted watercolours, created a wonderful garden and home to entertain her large circle of friends and pursue her many interests. I wished that I was like her in that way, but I knew I’d felt jaded of late, disappointed in some aspects of life which had made me cynical and, at times, rather sad.

Music began to play, Adagio by Albinoni. The hum of conversation faded and everyone stood as the pallbearers began to make their way up the aisle carrying Mum’s coffin. It was covered in masses of white roses and gypsophila, her favourites. It was the most poignant sight I’d ever seen and, with it, the finality of her death hit me hard. My knees buckled and Anna put her arm around me, steadying me.

The vicar took his place at the front and signed that we should all sit down. As I looked at the closed coffin, I felt wracked with grief that I couldn’t see the dear being that was in there for just one more moment. I wished that I’d been with Mum at the end, been able to hold her hand one last time. I told myself again that there was no way I could have made it, but it gave me little solace. Too late, I thought, as an avalanche of emotions engulfed me: guilt, loss, sadness, anger but also, somewhere in there, relief that Mum wouldn’t have to suffer years of decline and incapacity. She’d been frail the last time I saw her, struggling to see as well as walk. ‘Old age isn’t for sissies,’ she’d said.

Rose had asked if I wanted to do a reading but I’d said no. I didn’t think I could have kept it together. Clearly Rose and Fleur felt the same, because it was Hugh who got up and read ‘Miracles’ by Walt Whitman, in his confident public schoolboy’s voice, followed by Martha, the friend Mum had made in the retirement village.

‘Who’s she?’ Anna whispered as she walked to the front with the help of an expensive-looking walking stick. Although elderly, she was a tall, striking woman, impeccably turned out, her hair dyed a subtle ash blonde, her nails a not-so-subtle red.

‘That’s Martha.’

‘She’s fabulous. Looks like she might whack anyone who got in her way with that stick.’

I didn’t know much about her, apart from the fact she’d been a Bluebell Girl in Paris when she was younger, then married a consultant and lived in the Far East until her return to England ten years ago to be nearer her son and daughter.

Martha read ‘A Song of Living’ by Amelia Burr then, finally, Mum’s oldest friend and neighbour, Jean, got up and read ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep’ by Mary Elizabeth Frye. I’d known Jean all my life; she was like a sister to Mum. I was moved to see the effort it took her to walk up to the front then talk about Mum in her familiar Scottish accent. An image of her as a young woman in tennis whites popped into my mind. Mum was mad about tennis too, and she played most weekends with Jean and her late husband Roy, whilst Rose, Fleur and I sat on benches by the courts and stuffed ourselves with cucumber sandwiches and lemonade. I’d always liked Jean. She was full of life, shared Mum’s sense of humour, but was smart too. As well as bringing up her family, she’d studied gardening, ran a very successful landscape design business and written and sold many books on all aspects of the subject long before it became fashionable. Now here she was, an old lady with white hair, slightly bent with age.

After the reading, she went on to speak fondly about Mum, her sunny outlook, her love of her daughters, and for a few moments she brought Mum’s image, sharp and bright, into the chapel. A memory from when I was little flashed into my mind as Jean spoke of Mum’s lifelong love of pranks. If ever Rose, Fleur or I went out of a room to get something, Mum and Jean thought it hilarious to hide behind the curtains or sofa, so we’d return to an empty room and wonder where everyone had gone. They were still doing it when we were teens, much to our embarrassment.

And then it was over. Twenty minutes and time’s up. Twenty minutes to sum up a life, then she’s out and the next one’s in. That can’t be it, can it? I’d thought. Eighty-seven years of a full and well-lived life ends with a few readings, a bit of music, a eulogy and a couple of lines from the vicar.

Doors at the back were opened and sunlight streamed back in. As the ushers motioned us to leave, a track began to play over the loudspeakers. ‘Wish Me Luck (As You Wave Me Goodbye.)’ Typical Mum. She would have wanted to leave us laughing, and it was that reminder of her sense of humour that brought the tears.

*

The gathering after the funeral was held at an old pub near Hampstead Heath where Rose had booked an upstairs room.

‘Weird to have a party where the guest of honour is missing,’ said Anna as we walked into the bar area, where a buffet had been laid out and which was already full of people drinking, talking, catching up.

‘True, and Mum did like a party. She’d have liked this, to have seen all her nearest and dearest in one place,’ I said. I wasn’t in the mood for making idle chatter, though: my sole aim there was to find Rose and Fleur. I knew that they would have been grieving as I had, and hoped that we could be some comfort to each other.

Rose was on autopilot on the other side of the room by a window, organizing, greeting, making sure people had drinks. I glimpsed Fleur over at the bar on her own, her back turned. I tried to make my way over but was waylaid by various people offering condolences and sandwiches for which I had no appetite.

After a short while, I saw Rose go out in the corridor.

‘I’m going to go and find Rose,’ I said to Anna.

‘Good. I’ll wait here,’ she replied, and she plonked herself down next to an old dear who looked like she didn’t know a soul.

I found Rose alone in the kitchen area. ‘Rose, can we talk?’

She barely looked at me. ‘Not the time or place,’ she said, then proceeded to issue an order to a waitress. I felt gutted by her response.

I went back into the main room and looked for Fleur at the bar, but she’d disappeared so I went back to Anna.

‘Any luck?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘Rose is too busy and I think Fleur may have gone. She never was one for family gatherings, unless she was the centre of attention.’

Anna squeezed my arm. ‘Don’t take it personally. Funerals are odd events. Nobody is ever quite themself.’

I wasn’t so sure. Rose and Fleur had acted exactly true to form as far as I’d seen. Not wanting to hang around any further, I’d looked for Rose to say goodbye and explain that I had a train to catch. She had been occupied serving tea to guests and seemed indifferent to me leaving before the gathering had dispersed. I’d left feeling hollow and sad that I’d found no solace with my sisters. You can choose your friends, but not your family. Who needs sisters? Not me, I’d thought as Anna and I headed for the station.

*

Anna poured more wine. ‘I know the funeral was hard for you Dee but it was difficult for all of you. Whatever your mum has planned for the next year is bound to be very different.’

‘True but maybe Rose has got the right idea,’ I said. ‘Why put yourself through it?’

‘Stop being so negative. Only the other day you were telling me that you wanted to follow your mum’s wishes so that you’d have extended contact with her. I can’t believe you’d give up so easily.’

‘I’m not the one giving up, Rose is.’

‘You are too if you don’t at least try and persuade her to participate.’

‘Rose can be stubborn and unmovable if she makes up her mind about something.’

‘So can you.’

‘You’re supposed to be my friend.’

‘I am and if I can’t tell you to snap out of this defeatist mood and try and get Rose on board, who can?’

‘You don’t know her like I do. If she’s decided not to do Mum’s list then there’s little I can do to persuade her.’

‘You’re being pathetic,’ said Anna.

‘And you’re being horrible.’

‘No I’m not. I’m telling you the truth. Call her when you get home.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Call her. Don’t be such a wimp.’

‘I hate you. You’re mean.’

‘I hate you more. Now. Would you like another glass of wine to go with your misery?’