Читать книгу How to Say Goodbye - Katy Colins, Katy Colins - Страница 14

Chapter 5

‘“Ask A Funeral Arranger,”’ read Frank. ‘“Everything you wanted to know but were afraid to ask.” I think it has a great ring to it. I hope you get the outcome you deserve.’ He smiled, looking again at the printout of the e-flyer I’d created and posted on our Facebook page. ‘I have to say I was surprised that our resident wallflower would be hosting an event like this.’

You can say that again.

‘It’s good to try something different every now and then.’ I was convinced my over-the-top laugh belied how I really felt.

Since I’d decided to throw caution to the wind and invite perfect strangers to the back room of a church hall, I had to continue with this fake bravado. I’d spent ages writing and re-writing the perfect welcome speech, succinctly summing up my job role and what we offered to those who got their affairs in order with us. As long as I had those index cards in my hands I would be OK, or so I kept telling myself. Sadly, Frank couldn’t make it, and Friday nights were Linda’s regular girls’ night to drink one too many Malibu and cokes and watch the burly men of the Red Lion play darts. I’d seen her Facebook statuses. To be honest, I was grateful that she wasn’t able to pop down. I didn’t need her judging me from the sidelines. I was already a little wound up at the way her eyes had rolled and her painted lips had curled up at the edges every time Frank had mentioned tonight.

It had seemed so simple to put the evening together but, in reality, it had taken a lot more work than I’d imagined. First, I’d had to find a suitable – and free – venue. There were fire exits, disabled access and general health and safety to think of. I had followed Ms Norris’s idea of baking a selection of some of my favourite cakes, but I didn’t want to isolate anyone with dietary restrictions so had spent several evenings trapped in the kitchen making sure I would please any gluten-free, dairy-intolerant vegans who might attend. Maybe Linda’s approach of just cold-calling potential customers would have been easier. It certainly would have been quicker, and saved me a small fortune in ingredients. I just knew there was no way I’d have been able to pick up the phone to a stranger and encourage them to sign up to their funeral in the effortless way she did it.

‘Best of luck tonight, Grace. I have to say I can’t wait to hear how you get on!’ Frank smiled.

I felt my stomach do a tiny flip of anticipation.

*

Maybe the clock on the wall was wrong. It looked like it had been there for some time, after all. In fact, the whole of the room could do with a bit of TLC. No wonder they’d let me hire it for free. My eyes strayed to the peeling paint chips and scuffed wooden tables. I’d tried my best to get rid of the musty smell in here with the air freshener I’d brought with me, but it hadn’t managed to do the job. I re-checked my watch, which was showing the same time as the clock, and kept my gaze on the doors, waiting for them to open, shifting on an uncomfortable seat.

The circle of identical red plastic chairs that I’d painstakingly heaved into position around me were all empty. The only sound was the loud ticking of the annoyingly correct wall clock and my feet nervously tapping on the faded lino.

The trestle table I’d set up at the front of the room, under the stained glass window, was full of untouched cakes, neatly laid out biscuits and chilled cartons of orange juice, alongside fanned out forms and free pens. Two balloons with our company logo on bobbed forlornly over the floor, mocking me and this seemingly stupid idea.

I’d been sitting there for the past twenty minutes, psyching myself up whenever the flash of headlights swiped past the window. I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook away the tears threatening to prick my eyes. Someone had to show up, surely? Not even in my wildest nightmares about holding this event did no one turn up. But that was how it appeared to be.

I sighed loudly. Maybe I should have done more to get the word out? When I’d posted about it on our Facebook page it had received a couple of likes, which had foolishly buoyed my confidence. I thought the residents of Ryebrook would be queuing up to ask me something. Maybe I should have booked a different location? Taken a stall at the library, or had a table set up in the atrium of Asda instead? Perhaps I should have chosen to hold it on a different day of the week. People clearly didn’t want to think about their own funeral on a Friday night.

I told myself to give it another five minutes then call it quits. Linda’s face would be painful when she heard what a disaster it had been, but not as painful as sitting in an empty church hall on my own, listening to the clock hands ticking by.

When the tediously slow five minutes were up, I wearily got to my feet and pulled out the Tupperware boxes to pack away the homemade cakes. Maybe there was a homeless shelter I could go and drop them off at. Someone should benefit at least.

Suddenly I heard faint footsteps, followed by the creak of the door opening.

‘Ah, Grace! Sorry I’m late –’ the familiar voice chimed, then stopped. She glanced around the room. ‘Am I late? Or am I early?’

‘Evening, Ms Norris!’ I couldn’t help but smile at her. ‘You’re right on time. Come on in.’

‘I wasn’t sure if I could make it, which is why I didn’t mention it to you earlier. I had to see if Alma would watch Purdy for me, you see, and Alma is a bit of a stickler for a routine,’ she babbled, taking off her coat and laying it on an empty chair. ‘A bit like you, actually,’ she chuckled.

‘Well, it’s great to see you. Help yourself to some cake or a drink. You, er, you didn’t see anyone else out there did you?’

‘No dear, I’m afraid I didn’t.’

My heart sank. Stay positive, Grace.

‘I’ll just go and have a final check.’ I jogged to the creaky doors, out to an empty corridor, and peered through the main doors. Ms Norris was right; not a soul in sight.

‘So, erm, thanks again for coming. Possibly it’s the weather keeping others away…’

At that exact moment, the thin window frames, dripping in condensation, gave an almighty rattle.

‘These are delicious,’ she grinned as crumbs of chocolate brownie fell on her plum-coloured skirt.

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s your recipe. I have to say that using a dash of cayenne pepper really worked.’

‘It’s been my secret ingredient for many years.’ She tapped a finger to the side of her nose.

I glanced at the clock. Seven thirty-five. We had this room for another twenty-five minutes. I couldn’t pack away now; she’d made such an effort to brave the outdoors to attend.

‘So…’ I cleared my throat and rummaged in my suit jacket pocket for my index cards. I was about to launch into my pre-prepared speech, for something to fill the time, when a loud creak stopped me.

‘Is this the funeral meet-up thing?’ asked a wobbly, high-pitched voice.

I spun on my chair to see a young boy – he couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen – stick his jet-black, shaggy hair into the room. His dark eyes darted from side to side. The rest of his body remained outside, unsure whether or not to enter.

I leapt to my feet. ‘Oh yes, hi, please come in!’

The lad shuffled in, dragging his feet. He refused to smile but his serious dark brown eyes lit up when he saw the cakes on offer.

‘I’m Grace – I work at Ryebrook Funeral Home – and this is Ms Norris.’ The old lady gave a cheerful wave, dropping more crumbs to the floor.

‘I’m Marcus,’ he mumbled, sloping into the room. ‘Can I have some cake?’

‘Sure, help yourself. There’s plenty to go round.’

Hungrily, Marcus started filling his paper plate with one of everything. I glanced at the clock. Seven forty. The invite had said seven. I wasn’t very good with things not running to plan, but at least people had shown up. Never mind the fact that Marcus was not exactly our target audience, being much too young to sign up to a prepaid funeral plan.

I decided that I would still stick to my original script. I should be able to get through everything before the line dancing group needed the room at eight p.m. I stood up and cleared my throat with as much authority as I could muster. I was conscious that we looked a bit ridiculous, the three of us, sat in such a large circle of empty chairs. I focussed on the pastel-coloured cards in my hands.

‘Thank you for coming this evening. My name is Grace Salmon, and I’m a funeral arranger at Ryebrook Funeral Home. We are a small business who have been in the funeral trade for over fifty-five years. Our aim is for you to have your funeral your way, on your big day. I wanted to host this event tonight as a way to debunk some of the myths around what we do. For example, not all funeral arrangers are fans of Halloween.’

I chuckled. My awkward laugh was the only sound in the room.

‘Um. Anyway – there have been a lot of misconceptions from pop culture and horror films, but the truth is that we’re here to assist in one of the most rewarding and important events, in the most dignified way that we can. I’m going to run through a few of the other popular myths before passing over to the room for your questions –’ I stopped abruptly and looked at the clock.

‘Actually, as there’s only the three of us you probably don’t need to hear all of this…’ I sat back down, feeling self-conscious, and placed the stack of cards on the empty seat next to me. ‘We don’t have much time left before we need to go, so, er, maybe it’s easier if you ask me whatever you would like to know and I’ll try to answer as many questions as I can?’

There was a silence, only filled with Marcus loudly chewing on a slice of Bakewell tart.

‘I’ll start.’ Ms Norris raised a wrinkled hand. ‘I wanted to ask you, Grace, what made you get into a career like this?’

‘Well,’ I cleared my throat. ‘I always knew I wanted to work in a role that helped others.’

I parroted the well-worn answer. Tonight had already been a disaster; there was no chance I was going to dive into the truth.

Marcus slowly raised a skinny arm. ‘I have a question.’

I smiled at him encouragingly. He had a smear of chocolate from one of the brownies on his chin. ‘Go on.’

‘My grandma died last year and I want to know…’ He paused.

I expected him to ask what happened to her body, how embalming works or what temperature the incinerator reaches – a teenager fascinated with the ghoulish side of our world. I wasn’t prepared for what he eventually found the words to ask.

‘I want to know…’ A deep intake of breath. ‘When I’m going to start feeling happy again?’

A soft, gentle sound passed from Ms Norris’s lips.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Marcus.’ He was blinking rapidly and refused to take his eyes from his scuffed trainers.

I paused for a moment. ‘What was her name? Your grandma?’

‘June. She was eighty-seven, which everyone said was “a good innings” and “her time” and other things like that. I just don’t get why there’s loads of old people still alive when she isn’t. It’s not fair.’ He angrily kicked the leg of the chair next to him then flashed a wide-eyed look at Ms Norris. ‘God, sorry. I didn’t mean, like…’

‘It’s quite alright, dear. It’s very normal to be angry when you lose someone you love.’ Ms Norris bobbed her head in sympathy.

Marcus lowered his voice. ‘She was like you, actually. She loved those mini apple pies from Aldi. She’d pick off the edges and secretly give them to my dog when my mam wasn’t looking.’ He pointed to the neat line of crumbs that Ms Norris had left on her paper plate. ‘I just miss her so much.’ His voice cracked and tightly bunched-up fists flew to stem the tears from his eyes. ‘My mam thought if I came here tonight it might help…’

I’d foolishly expected questions on what options people have during a cremation, the most popular funeral songs, or whether eco-funerals were the future. Not this.

‘Do you talk about June – I mean your grandma – much at home?’ I asked gently.

Marcus shook his head.

‘When I lost my Billy I could hardly function,’ Ms Norris said, handing Marcus a tissue that he accepted. He blew his nose noisily.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ I paused then turned to her. ‘Who’s Billy?’

In our regular meetings I’d never heard her mention a Billy.

‘My dog. I had Billy before Purdy. A King Charles Cavalier and exceedingly handsome if I do say so myself. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if it’s a pet or a person.’ She wafted a wrinkled hand. ‘To be honest I’ve met nicer animals than I have people in my time. When someone or something you love dies, it can make you feel like the world has spun off its axis and you’re barely holding onto the edges.’

Marcus nodded slowly in agreement.

‘That’s normal. But Marcus, your grandma would have known how much you loved her, and no one can ever take away that special bond you had.’

He let out a loud sniff and used the sleeve of his hoody to wipe his nose.

‘Ms Norris is right,’ I added. ‘Also, it might help if you spoke to someone? Maybe tell your mum how you’re feeling?’

I felt completely out of my comfort zone offering what I hoped was good advice. I was fine with planning funerals, arranging hearses and comparing coffins. I could comfort the recently bereaved by fixing as much of their pain as I could with a perfect send-off, but I wasn’t ready to deal with the raw loss and love of a teenage boy for his grandma.

‘Don’t you ever get scared of… you know… dying?’ Marcus asked Mrs Norris, looking a little more composed.

‘Not so much that it stops me from living. You can’t do anything to avoid it, but you can make the most of whatever time you have. It’s something I wish I’d learnt a long time ago,’ she said wistfully. ‘I don’t expect you to live every day as if it’s your last, or any silly nonsense like that, but I do think we should all be more aware of how lucky we are.’

‘Hashtag blessed.’ Marcus nodded along.

‘Um, exactly. What I’m saying is: you need light and shade.’

I could hear footsteps growing outside; the line dancing class waiting to get in. It was nearly eight o’clock.

‘I’m so sorry, but we have to leave it there.’

‘Is it going to be on next week?’ Marcus asked, lolling to his feet and pulling the sleeves of his hoody low over his hands. ‘I’ll try not to cry next time.’

‘Oh, well, I…’ I stuttered. ‘It was actually just a one-off evening… I’m not a trained bereavement counsellor to start with and –’

‘Hear hear! I think it’s a wonderful idea to hold it again next week. Maybe you’d get more people turning up if it was a regular thing too?’ Ms Norris said, pulling on her thick coat. ‘You’ve gone to so much effort, lovey, it would be a shame to waste it.’

A forlorn balloon bobbed past, as if on cue.

‘Er.’ I bit my lip. I couldn’t suffer the embarrassment of sitting in an empty hall for half an hour again. I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time.

‘Well, see ya next week then,’ Marcus said, slipping a brownie into each of his low slung pockets and flashing a wave as he bobbed out of the room.

‘What a lovely young man.’ Ms Norris smiled after him. ‘So brave of him to come here and open up.’

The sound of impatient huffing from outside made me jump into action. I began swiping up everything into two large reusable shopping bags.

‘It looks like I’ll see you here next week then, dear!’ Ms Norris opened the door and let the moody-faced dancers file in. We’d run over by six minutes.

‘Yeah, I guess so…’ I trailed off, hurrying to get out before being dragged into a grapevine formation.

The thought of hosting an event again would have to wait. I had somewhere to be – somewhere I desperately did not want to go, and I was running late.