Читать книгу How to Say Goodbye - Katy Colins, Katy Colins - Страница 17

Chapter 8

As expected, Linda had been very eager to hear about my Ask a Funeral Arranger event. I’d given a noncommittal, vague answer about how it had been a little quieter than expected, omitting the fact that only two people had turned up, one who already had a funeral plan with us and the other who was much too young to sign up for one.

‘Great. So you did get some sign-ups?’

‘Er…’

She raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t fooling her.

‘Seriously. Not one bit of interest?’

I couldn’t cope with the smugness radiating from her and the way she held her biro to her pursed lips, tapping at the smirk painted on them.

‘Oh, yes, well, I mean there was one man who seemed keen to know more…’ I lied.

‘Really?’

‘I’m just about to give him a call to confirm his appointment actually…’ I trailed out. She refused to take her eyes off me. Why had I said that? Why not admit it had been a total waste of time? I picked up my phone and for a moment thought about calling up the talking clock and pretending, but that was even more pathetic. I scrolled through my contacts list. Who could I call? Who would be receptive to me trying to sell them their own funeral? I settled on a gentleman I’d met a few months ago at a funeral service.

Please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up.

‘Hello?’ A gruff voice answered. My stomach dropped.

‘Hello, is that Mr Baxter?’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh hello, my name is Grace Salmon. I’m calling from Ryebrook Funeral Home and wondered if you had a moment to talk about your funeral?’

‘What? You what? It’s who?’

I couldn’t work out where he was, but there was music and laughter in the background. He was quite an elderly gentleman. I raised my voice.

‘It’s Grace Salmon! Is now a good time?’

I caught Linda sniggering into her raised fist as I shouted down the line.

‘Salmon? What? I can’t hear a bloody thing,’ he muttered. ‘Are you selling me something?’

This was not going well.

‘No. Well, yes. I wanted to speak to you about arrangements for your funeral, to see about making an appointment to discuss plans to lock it in at today’s prices.’ I winced. Linda made this seem so effortless.

‘My funeral? I really can’t hear a thing…’

I was losing him. To be fair I’d never had him in the first place, but I needed to keep him on the line a little longer. I thought of a different tack, one I’d seen Linda use.

‘You want to take the burden of planning your funeral away from your loved ones, don’t you?’

There was a pause. What sounded like the tinkle of a fruit machine and hearty male laughter.

‘Mr Baxter? Are you there?’

‘I don’t know who this is but I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.’

‘No, sir, I’m not –’

‘Wait. Is this Gerald? Ah, you got me there.’ He broke into a loud guffaw. ‘Calling about my funeral, you cheeky git. He set you up to this, didn’t he?’

‘No, I don’t know anyone called Gerald…’

Linda was making spluttering noises, trying to keep her suppressed giggles in. Mr Baxter wasn’t listening to my protestations.

‘You tell him from me that I’ll get him back for this. It’s a good one, though, funeral planning. I’ll have to remember that.’

He’d hung up before I could convince him that I was genuine.

‘OK, well, I’ll see you soon then,’ I said brightly into the empty phone line, and placed the receiver down. ‘He’s going to have a think about it,’ I said to Linda, before turning round to face my screen and hide the blush on my cheeks.

‘Ladies – Abbie Anderson?’ Frank broke Linda’s spluttering of giggles as he walked over to our desks. He was eating a satsuma, juice dribbling between his chubby fingers.

‘Sorry?’

He had a tiny flake of pith trapped in his beard.

‘I’ve just taken a call from a local rag reporter about an Abbie Anderson. A model, apparently? They wanted to know if we were dealing with her service.’

‘That name rings a bell.’ Linda began rooting around her messy desk.

‘Yes, we are,’ I said. She stopped lifting up pieces of papers and stared at me. ‘Her husband and her sister-in-law visited me to start the process.’

Frank was cut off from whatever he was about to say by a loud huff.

‘I’m sure I made that appointment,’ Linda frowned.

‘Oh, well, you weren’t here when Mr Anderson arrived so I took it on. I didn’t want to turn him away.’

Frank held up a hand. ‘Just as long as we make sure to factor in that there’s media interest. She was quite a famous model, apparently. And the press loves a story of a beautiful young woman taken too soon.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘We need to make sure the family are briefed and that the business is showcased at its best.’

I nodded decisively. The pressure was on. Frank took a lot of encouraging to get on board with some of my suggestions as it was; if there were going to be journalists covering Abbie’s funeral then I knew he’d want to err on the side of caution even more.

‘I’m sure you’ll do a great job, Grace. Just please remember to keep it simple and classic, our signature style.’

‘Sure thing…’ I replied, weakly.

Frank plodded off to his office. The moment his door was closed Linda angrily tapped her false nails against her keyboard.

‘I should have been looking after the Anderson funeral. But, oh well.’

‘We can work together on it if you like?’ I offered, knowing full well what her answer would be.

‘No. It’s fine. You heard what Frank said. If the press are going to be there then you’ll be under enough pressure to make sure everything runs smoothly, you don’t need my input too.’

‘Well, I –’

She cut me off by picking up the ringing phone. I suddenly felt like Abbie’s funeral was going to be one of the biggest I’d ever looked after.