I waited, knowing he would hate that silence between us.
Eventually he said, “He seems a bit bossy. I don’t like that, love.” I know now that he was talking about his own marriage.
“He is not!” I’d said, hot with injustice. “He’s very clever, yes, but he doesn’t boss anyone around!”
“He likes things done his way,” my dad had said quietly.
Red with embarrassment and wishing I’d never mentioned it in the first place, I said, “Well, don’t we all?”
“You don’t have things your way, though, do you?” he said.
My mum had come into the room and heard what my dad had said. “Are you kidding?” she’d said. “She has everything she could ever want. Look at the house they’ve got!” My mother had been furious about my house from the beginning because her sister had left me some money in her will, which I’d used to help pay for it. She’d left sentimental items for my mum, who couldn’t care less about anything like that. My mother was an early advocate of eBay and had had those trinkets on sale before her sister was in her grave. “And her car. I’d say she has everything her own way.” She gave me a hard look and, remembering that now, I realized she’d been jealous of the life I was leading. A life I became desperate to escape. “I’d say she’s not as daft as she looks. She’s the one in control there!”
But I wasn’t. I never was. Even when he told me I was, I wasn’t.
* * *
? ? ?
All afternoon at the reception I had to keep up the pretense that Tom was a great guy. “We had our differences, but I’m so sorry to lose him,” I said again and again. I’d planned this well in advance, knowing I’d struggle with what to say. “Yes, it was a terrible shock” and “It’s such a tragedy when someone dies so young.” And then I’d move on with, “Will you excuse me? I should speak to his relations.” And off I’d go until someone else approached me.
Oliver came to the funeral. He’d been away for a couple of weeks and didn’t know Tom had died until another neighbor told him on his return. He’d called me immediately and offered to help with the funeral arrangements. He’d clearly moved past our conversation on the riverfront and told me about a woman he’d met on holiday whom he’d be meeting up with soon. It sounded as though they’d gotten along really well and he was hopeful something would come of it. He was polite at first but soon relaxed into being the friend I’d had for so long.
Sarah didn’t show up. When we had a quiet moment, Oliver told me that when he checked his work e-mails after his holiday, he found a message from her, telling him she’d walked out of Sheridan’s. She wanted to know whether there were any jobs going at his place. I asked him if they’d talked about Tom’s death, but he said he hadn’t had time to talk to her and that she hadn’t mentioned it in her message. It didn’t sound as though he’d be rushing to call her anytime soon, though that might have been wishful thinking on my part. I really didn’t want Sarah to cast a critical eye over what happened that day.
He rescued me a few times at the reception. “I can’t believe someone you’ve never met has just asked you to tell them exactly what happened, as though your life’s some sort of soap opera and they’ve missed an episode,” he whispered as we left someone who’d worked with Tom for only a few months but who seemed desperate to know the gruesome details of his death. “How come you’re not angry?”
“I just keep reminding myself I’ll never have to see them again.”
“Is your friend here?”
“Which one?”
“Emma. The woman who was there when he fell downstairs.” Oliver put his arm around my shoulders and I turned to him just for a moment, for comfort. “It must have been horrible.”
“It was.” I thought of seeing Emma at the front door and how I’d panicked, thinking she’d tracked me down. “I’ve never