Chapter 8
As she glanced around the crowd of solemn faces in the foyer of Glasgow Cathedral, Marge couldn’t help but think that Kenneth would be happy with what he saw.
After much discussion with Kenneth’s daughter, Nina, and his work colleagues, the funeral was taking place on a Sunday to accommodate the busy schedules of the assembled mourners, because if this were a weekday, there would be very few intricate, life-saving cardiac surgeries taking place in the central belt of Scotland this morning because every top heart surgeon that immediately came to mind was here.
As were dozens of renowned specialists in other fields, several of the board members from the Scottish Society of Surgeons and she could see at least two peers of the realm.
According to the order of service that had been given out as the mourners entered the foyer, Sir Lester Kelaney was giving a eulogy.
Oh, Kenneth would love that. And he’d be thrilled to see a few politicians, city councillors, and even…
was that…? Yep, there was Jonas Connolly, Scotland’s newest addition to the House of Lords.
Kenneth had performed lifesaving surgery on one of Lord Connolly’s grandchildren, earning eternal gratitude from the peer and his family.
In fact – Marge cast another subtle glance around – there were probably at least a dozen people here who owed their lives to Kenneth’s brilliance.
Such a sad, tragic irony that his death, and his absence from the profession, may ultimately lead to more lives being lost.
Kenneth Manson was many things to many people, but to her, he was the man that she’d worked alongside for three decades.
As his secretary and executive assistant, she’d sat outside his office, met all his patients, fielded all of his calls, kept his diary and organised almost every hour of his life.
She’d arranged the cocktail parties that he hosted as networking events, she’d managed his professional finances, and yes, it was a cliché – even bought his wife’s birthday and Christmas presents.
Without thinking, she pulled a cotton square hanky from the pocket of her thick wool coat and dabbed at her nose.
‘Are you okay, Marge?’
The whispered voice in her ear was full of concern, and Marge was grateful for it, especially as the young woman beside her had stepped in to save the day at the last minute.
She’d been planning on coming alone, but her daughter, Estelle, had insisted on joining her.
‘I know how much he meant to you, Mum, and I can’t stand the thought of you being there alone,’ she’d said over coffee and croissants the previous week.
Estelle always dropped by on her way to yoga on a Saturday morning, and Marge treasured those starts to the weekend.
Sometimes she came alone, but most mornings Estelle’s best friend, Amber, would be with her.
It was their standing joke that Marge had given birth to one daughter but ended up with two, because the young women had been joined at the hip for years and Marge adored them both.
Marge had tried to resist Estelle’s offer to come to the funeral, but Estelle had been so insistent, she’d conceded in the end, realising that the more she dug her heels in, the more her daughter would match her energy.
Estelle was kind, she was generous, she was smarter than Marge would ever be, but she was also stubborn as a mule and fiercely protective of Marge, probably because the two of them had been on their own for so long.
The plan had been set… until nine o’clock this morning, when Estelle had called in a panic.
‘Mum, I rolled my ankle when I was out running this morning. I’m so sorry.
I’m on the couch with an ice pack on it and I can’t put any weight on it.
That’s what I get for being bloody healthy on a weekend.
I should totally have stayed in bed. Anyway, Amber was already at the Cathedral doing the flowers, so she’s going to come get you and accompany—’
Marge had realised what her daughter was about to say and cut her off. ‘No, no – that’s not necessary. I’m happy to go on my—’
Just at that, the doorbell had rung, and there was Estelle’s best friend, dressed head to toe in black.
‘I believe you ordered a funeral companion?’ Amber had said, before wincing. ‘Too soon? Sorry, I make terrible jokes when I’m in sad situations.’
Marge had smiled to put her at her ease. ‘Not too soon. But honestly, Amber, you really don’t need to…’
‘Oh, but I do. I’d hate my mum to have to go to a funeral on her own.
Especially someone she was close to. I’m happy to do it.
And it’s the least I could do after you recommended me for the flowers.
It’s the biggest job of my year so far. I just got done with the final touches at the cathedral – that’s why I’m already dressed like this. ’
Even in the solemnity of the day, Marge was pleased to know that Amber’s business would benefit from the occasion.
When Nina had asked her for help in planning the invitations and attendee list for the funeral, Marge had offered another couple of solutions too, and one of them had been the flowers for the cathedral.
Kenneth’s daughter had taken her suggestion on board, and now that they were here at the cathedral, Marge could see that it had been a good choice – the flowers were indeed stunning.
However, Marge’s gaze was prevented from lingering on them, because the attention of everyone in the foyer suddenly turned to stare out of the huge open doors, where the funeral cars were now pulling up.
Marge swallowed, her throat tight, her chest even tighter, as she watched the hearse come to a halt, then six gents in traditional funeral suits – Marge assumed they worked for the funeral directors – stepped forward.
They efficiently but respectfully removed the coffin from the back of the car, then, with a nod to the family, who had now alighted from the second car, they began to make their way up the steps, coffin on shoulders, gazes straight ahead.
Marge took in the pale, tight expressions on the faces of Nina and Stuart, and her heart broke for them, and for Bernadette, who walked between them, holding their hands.
In accordance with tradition, the mourners stood aside, letting the coffin and family pass, then followed behind them into the empty church. Not wishing to claim any kind of false importance, Marge, with Amber beside her, slid into a middle pew, letting others go ahead of her to the front.
‘Shit, I haven’t switched my phone off,’ Amber whispered, before thrusting her hand into her bag and pulling out her mobile, then pressing a button on the side.
‘Oh, I’d have been mortified. Could you imagine the minister’s face if “You Are My Sunshine” started playing?
Sorry. Doing that inappropriate conversation thing again. ’
Marge didn’t mind. In fact, she realised now she was glad to have someone objective there, someone who wasn’t emotionally involved.
It was helping her to detach, to keep it together, and she wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to do that if she’d been alone.
Especially now that the minister was opening the service with sad words of sympathy and loss, and promises of redemption.
Marge’s gaze drifted once more to Kenneth’s family, and her chest tightened again.
Bernadette stood stoically between her adult children and Marge admired her greatly, although they weren’t friends – Kenneth had been incredibly particular about keeping his work and personal life separate, so their only communication occurred when Bernadette called in or when Marge phoned Kenneth’s wife on his behalf.
As for Nina and Stuart, Marge had met them dozens of times over the years, bought gifts for them, arranged work experience and even, once or twice, in bygone days, picked them up from school or sports if Kenneth was supposed to do it and he was held up in surgery or otherwise engaged.
Now that they were adults, she wondered how they viewed their late father.
Like many of his ilk, his work had been all-consuming and Marge couldn’t possibly count how many times he’d asked her to call and tell his family he’d be late home, or wouldn’t make it to a special event.
And then there were the times that his absence wasn’t down to a work commitment, but to something more personal and illicit.
Marge had always done as he asked, but not without a tug on her conscience.
She told herself she was protecting them as much as she was protecting Kenneth, but that didn’t mean that she’d approved for a single second of his behaviour or of the position he’d put her in time after time.
Kenneth Manson was many things: brilliant, dedicated, strong, compassionate to his patients, supportive to his colleagues, but he wasn’t perfect and it had been part of Marge’s job description to mask those flaws.
Now, there would be no more moments of admiration for the boss she’d worked with for decades and there was no longer a need to cover for his failings.
The hardest part of Marge’s job had been turning a blind eye to Kenneth’s dalliances, and it was a moral dilemma she’d wrestled with many times over the years.
But at the end of the day, the truth was that she’d overlooked his infidelities, compartmentalised them, so that she could continue to work with him.
She wondered if that was something she would come to regret.
But then, Marge knew she wasn’t perfect either.
She’d made her own mistakes – as Kenneth knew all too well.
Their relationship was a trade off. An understanding that had remained between them for a lifetime.
And one that would shock many members in this hallowed congregation to the core.