Chapter 42
That evening she’d gone out with Lol and the famous Keith, who was finally home from his Cornish exile.
He was fifty years old. And almost completely bald.
With rather a large paunch. And three grown-up daughters.
All of which Ana had found quite surprising.
When Lol had said he was a Romani, a clichéd image of a head of thick black hair had immediately come to mind.
But he was cool and funny and completely besotted with Lol, and Ana had liked him enormously.
Flint had arrived at the bar at eleven o’clock to pick her up after a job and Lol’s face had been an absolute picture.
‘No,’ she’d exclaimed, when Flint had gone to the bar to get some drinks, ‘please. Tell me it’s not so.’
‘What?’ Ana said, obtusely.
‘You. And Flint. You haven’t …?’
‘Haven’t what?’
‘Oh. Jesus. You have, haven’t you? You’ve let him have his wicked way with you?’
Ana flushed and Lol screeched.
‘After everything I told you. After all those warnings. And you still fell for it.’
‘I did not fall for anything,’ Ana defended herself, ‘I just wanted … I just needed … I just … it just happened. And it’s good. It’s really good. He’s lovely.’
Lol rolled her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she hissed, ‘that’s exactly what I told you you’d think.’
‘Look. Flint and me. I really think it’s … different …’
Lol covered her eyes with her hands and wailed. ‘Oh God. Help me. Help me someone. I can’t bear it.’
And then Flint had come back with the drinks and sat next to Ana, and he’d run his hand over her hair and smiled at her and kissed the end of her nose and squeezed her knee, and Lol had made all sorts of extraordinary facial expressions until Ana went to the toilet a few minutes later.
When she got back, Flint was checking his car and Lol had grabbed Ana’s hand and said, I’ve never seen anything like it.
That man is in lurve. And Ana had blushed and said, Don’t be so ridiculous, and Lol had shaken her head and said, Never, I have never seen that man so excited to be with someone.
And he could not stop smiling while you were in the loo.
Kept looking over his shoulder. And grinning. What the hell have you done to him?
Lol’s words had worked their way into her stomach and swished around and made her feel almost faint with joy.
Because Lol was just confirming what she already knew.
There was something special going on here with Flint.
Something natural and real and inevitable.
She felt totally and utterly secure with Flint, never doubted his intentions, never analysed his words for hidden meanings, just accepted him exactly as he seemed.
And he did everything right. He didn’t come on too strong.
And he didn’t play it too cool. He did just enough to make her feel loved, protected, respected and admired, without ever making her feel trapped or tricked or vulnerable or cruel.
Ana thought about Lol’s words now, as Flint’s car pulled up to the entrance of Kensal Rise Cemetery, and a smile played on her lips.
She turned to Flint and beamed and he beamed back at her.
In the back of the car were Lol and Keith, Gill, Di and Amy, who’d brought Freddie in a specially bought black velvet coat.
Flint brought the car to a halt in the car park and everyone piled out. Father Anthony, the smiley and pink-cheeked vicar who was going to carry out the memorial ceremony, greeted Ana near the entrance to the crematorium with a bone-crushingly firm handshake.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’ve certainly chosen a lovely day for it.’ He looked upwards at the sky as if he was half-expecting to see God himself giving him the thumbs-up from a cloud. Ana introduced Anthony to everyone, and then they began the walk towards Bee’s grave.
‘A lot of the attendees are already here,’ he said, rubbing his hands together, ‘but we won’t start until everyone’s arrived. We’ve still got a few minutes.’
Ana caught her breath. She suddenly felt very responsible.
She’d never really organized anything before, not even a house party.
Her mother had been the queen of organization when Ana was growing up and then, when she’d left home, Hugh had always looked after all their social arrangements.
He’d made all the phonecalls, planned the menus, sent out the invites.
All she’d had to worry about was trying to think of something to say to Hugh’s intellectual friends that wouldn’t make her sound retarded and then doing the washing-up afterwards.
But in the space of the last week she’d exchanged e-mails with Stuart Crosby, who’d put a notice up on his website with details.
She’d organized for Zander to come to London with Dr Chan.
And she’d invited Ed. She’d phoned him at his office, and he’d said no at first. He’d cut off all links with Bee for the sake of his family and he didn’t want to take any risks.
But then he’d phoned back the next day and said he’d been thinking about it and decided that he owed Bee a last goodbye and that his wife and babies were spending that night with her mother anyway, so he’d be able to come.
Having sorted out the guest list she’d then had to decide on the blessing with Father Anthony and plan for the party afterwards, which, after many hours of heated discussion between her, Flint and Lol, was to be held at Bee’s favourite pub in Belsize Park, just next to where her old flat had been.
Ana had spent that morning at the pub with Flint and Lol, decorating the function room upstairs with posters of Bee and lots of black and yellow balloons.
She’d been in touch with caterers, and Lol had put a band together for her so she’d had to hire sound equipment, too, as well as writing a speech.
The outlines of a small group of people emerged as they neared the grave – men and women of varying ages and appearances.
Ana caught her breath when she saw the outline of a small woman with black hair – she’d sent Gay an invitation last week and even though she knew it was highly unlikely, a small part of her was still hoping that she might be here.
The woman turned round and Ana felt slightly deflated when it wasn’t her mother.
She didn’t recognize any of the other people by the grave so presumed they were fans. Bee’s fans.
‘Hi,’ she said, as she approached them, ‘I’m Ana.
Thank you all so much for coming.’ They all turned to smile at her and Ana saw something in their eyes as they looked at her that made her stomach lurch.
Awe. They were in awe of her. They thought she was something special because she was Bee’s sister and because she was the organizer.
They thought she was a proper person. And looking around her now, at Flint and Lol, Ana suddenly remembered that she was a real person, a person whose psychological stature finally matched her physical stature.
They looked at her expectantly. ‘We’re just waiting for a couple more people and then we can get started. Did you all get here all right?’
Zander and Dr Chan arrived a minute later, Zander looking very smart in chinos and a black button-down shirt. And then finally Ed arrived, looking flustered and with a small shred of tissue clinging to a shaving nick on his chin. He smiled grimly at Ana and Flint and looked hideously uncomfortable.
Father Anthony cleared his throat and began the blessing.
‘Well,’ he started, ‘I have to say that I have never before performed a memorial service so shortly after a funeral, but I understand that there were those among you who were unaware of Bee’s passing, or unable to attend for other reasons.
I think that the old cliché of “better late than never” is quite apt in this situation, because it really never is too late to celebrate the life of someone who has touched us, in whatever way.
I see amongst you friends and family. Also here are neighbours, business associates and admirers.
You are a wide and disparate cross section of people, but you all have one thing in common.
The departed touched you in some way during her short life, and in a way that has changed you profoundly and for ever.
I understand from Ana that Bee’s life was sometimes tragic and often very lonely.
That she still managed to exert such positivity on those around her is a testament to her vibrant personality and her love of people.
Let us say a prayer now for Bee and ask for God’s help in providing her with an afterlife that makes up for the shortcomings of her earthly life. May God bless her soul …’
Father Anthony made the sign of the cross.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘Ana has asked to say a few words about her sister, not about her life which, as I have already said, was not always a happy passage through time, but about her. But first, I am sure that there are others who would like the opportunity to say something. Please feel free to say whatever you wish. Anyone?’ He looked round the guests encouragingly.
‘Ah, good,’ he said, as someone moved towards him.
It was Stuart, shuffling nervously towards the head of the grave clutching a piece of paper. He cleared his throat.