‘She would have liked the arrangements,’ Sue added, her head motioning to the enormous standing spray Lottie and I had picked out, the smell hitting me suddenly, the sweet fragrance winding round me in the front row.
One of the pieces you had chosen was playing, Haydn, and there was a gentle hum of talk, low voices, people reaching across to squeeze hands or kiss cheeks. I had been to services like this before, rifled through the Order of Service or stared round at the congregation. Now it was your funeral, your plans and it all seemed incredibly important. I wanted everyone to be still, to be quiet, to listen, to wonder at why you’d chosen this piece.
The coffin was wheeled up the aisle and there was a general hush as it was manoeuvred close to the curtains ready for the committal.
The service began. The female officiant had tight ginger curls and a thickening waist. She welcomed us and introduced the service. Sue delivered the first reading, her voice faltering at the start and then growing in strength as she looked round at us all. I tried to raise an encouraging smile, couldn’t hear the words, too aware of the coffin only metres away, the eulogy I was about to deliver. My palms dampened at the thought. I knew there wasn’t long, stared at the small stand set up on the left as the officiant moved the service along.
‘And now Cora’s husband Teddy would like to say a few words.’
Cora’s husband doesn’t. He doesn’t want to say anything. He just wants you here, healthy, sitting next to him. He wants this to be someone else’s funeral.
I felt my knees tremble as I walked past your coffin, couldn’t stop my eyes travelling its length, a breath catching in my throat, before I turned my attention to the rows in front of me, all eyes watching. Hastily I stared down at the small square of paper I was gripping, unfolded it, smoothed it. A lone cough, someone rustled. The words on the page couldn’t possibly be a sum of your parts. I read them softly, quickly.
Your sister gave me a watery smile as I passed her, dabbing fruitlessly at her face as the tears fell. Lottie was staring at the coffin. My heart ached for her, a small surge of anger at our son for not being the one standing next to her, and me. He should have got on a flight, he should be here. You’d never asked him for much; why wasn’t he here at your funeral? How could he miss this?
Another reading. I could barely concentrate on what Geoffrey was saying, too aware of the moment the coffin with you inside would disappear behind the curtain. It finally did. I stared at the space, the curtains remaining stubbornly closed as the service ended and we were being dismissed. People lingered in the doorway opening umbrellas to protect themselves against the dribbling rain, not enough to really get drenched. Lacklustre weather. Cars moved on out, windscreen wipers going. We had hired the hall back at Maplelands club for drinks and canapés, normally a place I loved spending time.
How I longed to get in my car and drive in the opposite direction.
The hall was two-thirds full and I could hear the burble of chatter as I pushed through the double doors of the small vestibule. Luke and Lottie were together, Luke’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close: protective.
Howard, Arjun and Geoffrey stood in a tight circle together in one corner, picking at sausage rolls on napkins. Arjun had a mark on his lapel, had done something funny to his hair with gel or water or I wasn’t sure what. How I wished we were all four on the golf course, walking in companionable silence between holes, only commenting on the awkward green or Howard’s ridiculously showy swing or Arjun’s ability to lose his new balls in the long grass. That was where I was comfortable, not here in a suit I hadn’t worn in years that smelt of mothballs and damp, panicking internally at the amount of familiar faces whose names I couldn’t recall.
I felt awkward and exposed, unable to deal with the tears of other people. I stuck out a hand to shake: old friends of yours, work colleagues ignoring the hand, pressing their powdered cheeks to my face, dabbing at their eyes. They wanted to