Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
LAUREL
There was no room inside the chapel, so I listened to Gray’s funeral from outside, gathered around a screen with the other people who couldn’t fit inside.
Not that it made much difference – from the moment the celebrant kicked off the proceedings by saying, ‘Friends and family, we are gathered here today not just to mourn a death, but to celebrate a life,’ I started to cry and didn’t stop.
Even when she said, ‘The life of Nigel Graham, husband, father, friend, colleague and neighbour,’ my tears only intensified: I hadn’t known his first name, although I’d always half-assumed it must be something other than Gray.
I had been so peripheral to his life, even that most fundamental fact about him was news to me. I was shut out, and not just literally.
I had known, during that last hour I had spent sitting with his body before Anna arrived, that this would be the end – the last time I could be alone with him. Precious had known it too, embracing me and saying softly, ‘I’ll let you know when it’s time.’
We both knew what she meant: time for Anna to arrive, time for my wishes and Gray’s to take a back seat, because he was dead and I would have to relinquish him, permanently now, to the people he truly belonged to, to the life that I had only been an illicit, secret part of, to the death that I couldn’t change.
Anna must have spent the past two weeks planning all of this.
The rainbow colours the invited mourners were wearing; the poem I could hear being read by a man introduced as Carl, Gray’s business partner; the venue for the drinks afterwards.
Planning it all must have been awful for her – but was it worse than not being able to be part of it? I couldn’t and never would know.
Still, I was envious. She had the status of being his wife. She could elicit sympathy without being ashamed. She’d be sent cards and flowers, and people would share their memories of Gray with her to make her feel less alone, to show her they had loved him too.
All I had were the memories of the time I’d had with him.
How many hours, I wondered, had we actually spent together in those months?
Not that many. In total, they probably added up to less than ten days.
But every moment had been filled with joy – it was when I wasn’t with him that the bad stuff had happened: the guilt, the loneliness, the pain of missing him.
Now the good part had ended and only the bad remained.
I heard Carl’s voice reading or reciting the last line of the poem he or Anna had chosen: ‘I do not approve. And I am not resigned.’
I didn’t and I wasn’t. But there was nothing I could do about it. Gray was dead. I would never see him again. That was that.
At last the ceremony ended. Someone announced that there’d be food and drink at the Crooked Billet and everyone was most welcome, but I sensed that probably didn’t apply to me.
I decided to leave – slip quietly away, perhaps go for a long bike ride and lose myself in the pain of pushing my body to its limits.
I’d get out of the black suit I’d bought for the occasion, not realising that everyone else would be in bright summer clothes more suited to a wedding than a funeral.
As I turned to go, the door of the chapel opened and Anna stepped out, flanked by her children. I turned away, not wanting her to see me, but seconds later I heard a cry of alarm and the unmistakeable sound of a body falling to the ground.
‘She’s fainted,’ someone said.
My training and my instinct kicked in. I took a step forward, then hesitated, but it was too late.
‘Laurel’s here.’ Lulu Graham had spotted me. ‘She’s a nurse. She’ll know what to do.’
She reached out and gripped my arm as if it was the only thing stopping her falling herself. I could see terror in her eyes, and I knew what she must be thinking: Not Mum as well as Dad.
‘Hey.’ I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. We’ve got this.’
‘Are you sure?’ Her voice trembled. I could see she’d been crying and was about to do so again.
Instinctively, I put my arms around her and held her close for a moment.
‘It’s okay, Lulu love,’ I said. ‘I’ll make sure your mum’s looked after.’
She gulped. ‘Thanks, Laurel.’
Then we let each other go and I squatted down next to Anna’s prone body, awkward in my high heels, abandoning any hope of making a discreet getaway.
Lulu’s was just one of the faces peering down at Anna and me, variously shocked, anxious and plain old curious.
I could see two blonde women, almost indistinguishable from each other and so like Anna they could only be her sisters.
There was an older woman with stylishly cut grey hair, slender in a rose-coloured silk dress.
And Gray’s son too, his face frozen with shock.
I only looked up for a second before turning my attention to Anna.
‘Anna, can you hear me?’ I asked. Her chest was rising and falling. Her pulse was even.
Maybe she had fainted; maybe she had lost her footing descending the steps in her platform sandals and banged her head or winded herself. Mostly, though, the smell of gin on her breath, barely concealed by toothpaste, told its own story.
‘Is she all right?’ The woman in the pink dress had squatted down next to me. ‘Is she hurt?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I met her eyes and she nodded, understanding without me needing to say anything. I raised my voice. ‘If you wouldn’t mind all moving back a little, please. Me and…?’
‘Orla.’
‘Laurel.’ I smiled at her briefly. ‘Me and Orla will try and get Anna sitting up.’
‘It might be an idea to get people moving off to the pub,’ Orla said, turning to the small group that had gathered round. ‘Laurel and I will take Anna home and get her medical attention if she needs it.’
‘Come on, darlings.’ One of Anna’s sisters put her arms round Lulu and Barney, steering them away. ‘Mum’ll be fine. It’s the stress of the past few days, poor love. I’m sure she’ll join us when she’s feeling better.’
Orla and I leaned over Anna’s prone form, gently helping her to sit up. There was a bump on the back of her head, swelling already, but no blood. Her eyes were open but glazed and unseeing. I gave her a sip of water from the bottle in my handbag, and Orla called a taxi on her phone.
It was only then that I was able to look up and see into the chapel through the still-open doors.
The rows of seats were vacant now. A ray of sunlight illuminated the front of the space where the celebrant and the readers would have stood.
Where Gray’s coffin would have been, there was now only emptiness.
Half an hour later, we’d got Anna home. She was conscious, talking and able to climb the stairs on her own – just very, very drunk.
I left Orla to settle her in bed, found paracetamol in the bathroom and a bag of frozen peas in the kitchen, and poured a glass of water before going back upstairs to the spare bedroom, where I guessed Anna must have been sleeping alone during Gray’s illness – or perhaps even before that; I had no way of knowing.
Orla met me in the doorway.
‘Poor woman,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t want…’
‘Anyone to know?’ Orla nodded, and I went on, ‘Strictly speaking, given she’s been drinking, she ought to have medical attention. But…’
‘She’s got it,’ Orla said. ‘From you. I’ve taken her dress and shoes off. She wouldn’t mind – we’ve known each other long enough. I’ve been their neighbour ever since they moved in. And you…?’
There was no point in lying, but at the same time I found it almost impossible to tell the truth.
‘I was…’ I began. ‘Gray and I were…’
Orla nodded. ‘I knew there was someone. They both told me – Gray and Anna. When you said your name I knew who you were.’
I said, ‘I’m sorry. I really am. Sorry for what we did and now…’
‘Sorry that he’s gone. We all are. But for you it must be different. Harder.’
Her words brought a lump to my throat, but now wasn’t the time to cry. I thanked her and stepped past her into the bedroom, where Anna was lying still, breathing heavily, covered by the duvet.
‘Anna,’ I said. ‘It’s Laurel. How are you doing?’
Her eyes flickered and opened. They were unfocused and bloodshot, but her pupils looked normal.
‘Laurel,’ she muttered. ‘What the hell are you…?’
‘You fell and bumped your head. Do you know what day it is?’
‘Friday. Gray’s funeral.’
‘That’s right.’
‘My head fucking hurts.’
‘I know. Can you sit up and take some tablets?’
I put my arm around her shoulders and helped her into a sitting position, then handed her the water and paracetamol and waited while she sipped and swallowed.
‘What an idiot,’ she said, her words slurred. ‘I’ve made a right fool of myself.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s okay. No one will mind. You should rest and not worry about anything.’
‘The kids…?’
‘They’re with their aunt.’
‘Cathy or Sarah?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, reassured by her relative lucidity. ‘One of your sisters, anyway. They’re just like you.’
She managed a smile. ‘Gray loved my family. He said becoming part of it was the best thing about marrying me. Maybe that was a red flag.’
I shook my head. ‘He loved you very much. You and the children. I’ve always known that.’
She looked at me with a hint of the spiky aggression I was used to seeing. But she didn’t have the strength to sustain it.
‘Why did you do it, then?’ Her tone was weary – almost resigned. ‘If you knew he loved us so much?’
‘I suppose in the beginning I didn’t,’ I admitted. ‘I knew he had a wife and children. I can’t hide from that. But I didn’t know… I didn’t know you.’
‘I suppose he told you his wife didn’t understand him.’ Her lips twisted into the sarcastic half-smile I was beginning to recognise.
I shook my head. ‘He never said that. He never said anything bad about you. Just recently – a few weeks ago – he told me you were an amazing mother.’
Her face sharpened. ‘He did? Why did he tell you that?’
Because I told him I wanted to be a mother. But I couldn’t reveal that to Anna.
‘I can’t remember,’ I lied. ‘Something about his own mother, maybe.’
‘What did he tell you about her?’ she demanded.
Now I wasn’t lying – or hardly at all. ‘Nothing. He never mentioned her apart from that one time.’
I know about mothers, he’d said. I had a shit one. That was all. I hadn’t asked him about it at the time – it hadn’t seemed important. But perhaps it was.
‘He owed me everything, you know.’ Anna’s anger didn’t seem to be directed at me any longer, but elsewhere. ‘This house, our family, everything he wanted. And he could have thrown it all away, because of you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry for what I did. What me and Gray did.’
Abruptly, the fire went out of her, and she lay back down on the pillow.
‘I’ll tell you one thing, Laurel,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think I ever really understood him at all.’