After the Funeral Read online

  As she sipped the glass of water brought over by a concerned Giuseppe, it occurred to her again how little she knew about Linda. The other woman seemed to know so much more about her. Despite the warmth, she shivered.

  ‘Oh, I do hope you’re not coming down with something, Julia! There are so many infections around at the moment. I wonder if you’re running a temperature?’ Linda leaned across the table, placing a cool palm on Julia’s forehead, as her mother used to when she was a child. But this was not her mother. Julia shrank back into the bentwood chair, blinking back the tears which were always near in these early weeks of grief.

  To escape the older woman’s scrutiny, she opened her black handbag and bent her head over it, making a show of checking for her purse and house keys. When she glanced up, Linda was still looking at her solicitously. Julia smiled weakly and reached for the menu. ‘Just hungry, I expect. What would you recommend?’

  ‘Everything I’ve ever tried here is so good!’ enthused Linda. ‘If you like seafood, I’d recommend the linguine ai frutti di mare, but the Bolognese is one of the best I’ve ever tasted, and the butternut squash risotto is delicious, creamy without being heavy. And the pizzas, well, what can I say? I’ll order wine, I usually have the Chianti, would you like that?’ Without giving Julia time to reply, she requested a bottle from Giuseppe.

  When the proprietor brought the wine over, the women ordered their food. By the time their meals arrived on bright yellow plates edged with an intricate pattern of olives, they had consumed over half the bottle. Julia, usually a light drinker, knew that she was using the alcohol to relax. There was still something about Linda – her constant chatter, her concern to establish their family connection, her repeated references to Emily – which she found disquieting. But the other woman also challenged her with her optimism, her generosity, and maybe that was a good thing. The incident with the rough sleeper had reminded her how she used to be before she met Greg. She had been more open, less wary. Recognising these qualities in the older woman, she found herself growing wistful.

  As they ate the food which was as excellent as she had promised, Linda spoke again about how much she had enjoyed visiting Emily in the summer and how delighted she had been when Emily agreed she could paint her. Julia wished they could talk about something else. It pained her to think that her mother had kept the visits to herself. Presumably she had thought Julia was too wrapped up with her own problems at the time to be interested in the news of the recently discovered cousin. But from what James had said at the funeral, their mother hadn’t mentioned Linda’s visits to him either, which seemed odd, unless Emily had simply been preoccupied with her own deteriorating health.

  As if she could read her thoughts, Linda turned the subject to Julia’s half-brother. ‘I’d love to meet James properly some time, Julia, if you could arrange that? Did you mention me to him last week, after we met?’

  ‘Yes.’ Julia picked up the opportunity to find out more about her new relation. ‘So, do you have any brothers or sisters, Linda, any more cousins we don’t know about?’

  For the first time since they met, Julia saw Linda’s face close down, her usual animation drain away. She suddenly looked much older, the wrinkles around her eyes accentuated in the flickering light from the candle between them. ‘No.’ She paused. ‘Well, not full blood siblings, anyway.’

  ‘Oh?’ Julia was struck by the choice of words, sensing at the same time that she should tread carefully. She hoped her questioning tone might prompt a response as it so often did in her counselling room. But they were interrupted by Giuseppe, who glided over to check that everything was satisfactory. Linda’s face brightened again as she complimented him on the food.

  After the proprietor had moved away, Linda took over the conversation, turning the focus back on Julia. ‘I’m sure you must miss Emily dreadfully. How are you getting on, really? With Greg leaving so recently too, you’ve had such a difficult time, haven’t you?’

  Julia didn’t refuse more wine as Linda reached over to top up her glass again, draining the bottle. She found that for the first time in months she was rather enjoying herself in the cosy restaurant. She could see what the older woman meant about the mood-enhancing quality of Giuseppe’s. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak more openly to her new relative. She acknowledged what a shock it had been when Greg left. But when she admitted how much she missed her mother, she stopped mid-sentence as she saw Linda’s eyes misting over.

  Suddenly the older woman was sobbing, ‘I miss her so much too. We’d grown so close.’ She lay down her knife and reached her right hand across the table, seeking Julia’s. Julia pretended she didn’t notice, concentrating on loading the final grains of risotto on to her fork. Something twisted in her chest, reminding her of a feeling she’d had as a child when her infant half-brother had toddled into her bedroom and grabbed her favourite teddy bear. ‘It’s mine!’ she had shouted when her mother remonstrated with her for making a fuss. ‘It’s my teddy!’

  Now she raised the fork to her mouth, staring at Linda whose shoulders were shaking. She spoke very slowly before taking her last mouthful. ‘But she was my mother, Linda. Surely you understand I must miss her more than you?’

  As soon she had spoken, she bit her lower lip, ashamed of how childish her words sounded. But it was too late to unsay them. Tears continued to pour down Linda’s cheeks, tracks of black mascara in their wake. After a long moment she gasped out, ‘You don’t understand. Now isn’t the time to explain about our family. I don’t want to upset you, to shock you, not with everything else you’re dealing with.’

  ‘What do you mean, “our family”?’ Julia lowered her voice as the couple two tables away turned to look at them. Giuseppe cast an anxious glance in their direction. She inhaled, lining her cutlery up on her empty plate. She wanted to clear this up, to establish some distance, even as she knew that the alcohol was making her more confrontational than usual. ‘I’m sorry, Linda, but we’re only distant cousins. Isn’t “our family” stretching it a bit?’

  The older woman reached inside her colourful jacquard bag for a tissue. She massaged her temples. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘No, I don’t think it is. But I really can’t explain tonight. One of my headaches is starting. I’ve been having them a lot recently. I’m sorry. Now, please let me settle the bill. This is my treat. It really was lovely to have you at the exhibition. Thank you so much for coming.’

  Julia was shocked by the speed of her dismissal. She opened her mouth to insist on paying her share and to push Linda further to tell her what she knew about ‘our family.’ But taking in her companion’s strained white face and swollen eyes, she held back. She had already refused the paintings and didn’t want to be ungracious. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll head off now. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  Linda nodded. ‘I’ll be in touch, Julia.’

  Julia shivered as she took her coat from the stand by the door. A young couple entering the restaurant had let in a blast of cold air, but Linda’s promise of further contact had also chilled her. Giuseppe came across to help her into her coat, expressing his delight at meeting her and the hope that she would soon return with ‘Signora Linda.’ But he was not smiling as widely as he had when they arrived, and she put this down to his having witnessed Linda’s distress a few moments earlier.

  She paused with her handle on the door, looking back to acknowledge Linda one last time. But the older woman was looking down into her empty wine glass, her right hand still pressed to her forehead. She really didn’t look well. Julia briefly contemplated going back to see if she could help her find a taxi. Then, thinking how Linda had dismissed her, and how drained she was herself, she decided against the idea.

  Out in the alley, the sleet had stopped and the wind had dropped, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Julia wondered if it might snow as she turned right along the alley, away from the hill up to the cathedral. She calculated she would come out on another street
which she knew circled back round to the church. It would add an extra five minutes to the walk home, but she had no wish to pass the rough sleeper again. It wasn’t that she was afraid that he would harm her; she simply didn’t want to encounter the evidence of human misery again.

  Treading carefully over the glistening cobbles, she chided herself for her weakness, but this long day had shown her how fragile she was following her mother’s death. The news that her landlord was terminating the lease of her office had thrown her more than she would have expected, and she didn’t feel she had coped well with Linda.

  She emerged from the alley and turned up the well-lit street towards the cathedral, mulling over the second encounter with her cousin. In the back of her mind, something Linda had said was niggling her, something besides those irritating references to ‘our family.’ As a professional listener, Julia had an accurate recollection of conversations. Hunched inside her trench coat against the cold as the warming effects of the wine wore off, she replayed the last few minutes of their conversation.

  Now the cathedral loomed above her, its precincts deserted on the cold night. She paused for a moment, gazing up at it. It never ceased to astonish her, this magnificent nine-hundred-year-old Norman church. She started as the first stroke of ten boomed out. It carried with it the memory of Linda’s unsettling words. They ran over and over in her mind, magnified with each stroke of the cathedral bell: ‘Now isn’t the time to explain about our family. I don’t want to upset you, to shock you, not with everything else you’re dealing with.’

  Turning away from the cathedral, she picked up her pace. She was almost running, sliding on the icy paving stones, trying to escape that last dong of the bell which reverberated in her mind along with Linda’s words. What had the woman meant? What could there possibly be in their family history which might upset or shock her? Wouldn’t her mother have told her?

  Groping in her bag for her key as she reached the cottage, Julia shivered as the first snowflakes fell. One settled on her ear like a whisper, echoing the murmur of the thought that here was the reason for Emily’s silence about Linda. The artist carried with her a disturbing family secret. Julia shook her head, trying to dispel her anxiety with the snowflake. But the unsettling thought refused to be dislodged, a troublesome companion during another sleepless night.

  –  CHAPTER 5  –

  The knocking grew louder, more urgent. Julia opened her mouth to shout, to scream, but no sound came. Surely everyone else could hear? Didn’t they realise what was happening? Why was the vicar pulling the cord, closing the curtains? Standing next to the coffin, he must be able to hear. Despite the pounding, he continued his steady intonation, ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes…’

  She tried to move, to run forward before it was too late. Why wouldn’t her legs respond? She could feel them twitching, but that was all. Then a voice broke through the banging. It was muffled, but she could make out her name: ‘Julia! Julia!’ Gradually she realised it wasn’t her mother, shouting to her to come to her rescue before the coffin rolled into the furnace. It was Greg. Greg? That couldn’t be right. He wasn’t there, unless he’d slipped in late. She’d scanned the congregation as she processed in behind the coffin. She turned her head to check and met something soft beneath it. Her pillow. Gasping for breath, heart pounding, she surfaced into consciousness.

  Disoriented by the nightmare, it took a moment for Julia to realise that the knocking was real. Someone was rapping on the front door. It was Greg calling her name. She didn’t move immediately, trying to separate reality from her dream world. She must have overslept, because there was too much light percolating through the curtains for a January morning. What day was it? What was Greg doing here? Slowly she sat up, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, her pulse still racing. She reached for the alarm clock on the bedside table and was shocked to see it was 9.35 a.m. In a rush she remembered: it was Saturday, the day Greg had arranged to call to collect the rest of his belongings.

  ‘Damn!’ Julia padded over to the window, pulling on her dressing-gown. This wasn’t how she had wanted Greg to see her, dishevelled, half-asleep. She drew back the curtain and raised the sash window further. She had woken in the night, her body bathed in sweat, opening the window. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the hot flushes. Now an icy blast hit her. She shivered, tightening the belt of the dressing-gown. Alerted by the noise, Greg looked up. Behind him, the postman was making his way up the path.

  ‘Julia! I thought we said 9.30? Why aren’t you up yet?’

  ‘I overslept,’ she replied coolly. ‘I’ll be down in five minutes.’ Noticing Greg reaching his hand towards the postman, she added: ‘Please put my mail through the letterbox.’

  The postman didn’t look at Greg as he followed her instructions before retreating to the street.

  ‘Can’t you at least let me in? It’s freezing out here!’

  ‘Then why don’t you wait in the car?’ Julia slammed the window down before he could reply, registering his indignant expression with satisfaction. She knew she was being awkward, but she wanted this meeting to run on her terms as far as possible.

  She used the bathroom quickly, frowning at the dark rings below her brown eyes as she splashed water on her face. She pulled on jeans and a black polo neck jumper before running a hairbrush across her brunette bob. Downstairs she picked up two letters from the doormat before unlocking the door. Glancing at them quickly, she saw one of them was addressed to her and Greg. It bore the blue stamp of the mortgage company.

  On the doorstep Greg stood with his arms folded across his chest. His lower lip jutted out in the way Julia remembered well, especially from their last months together. The grey sky was heavy with unshed snow.

  Silence hung between them like a curtain. Greg finally spoke. ‘So I can come in now, can I?’

  Julia stepped back into the hall. Confronted by her ex-partner for the first time in five months, she found her legs were shaking. Her stomach flipped as he brushed past her. It seemed that her every nerve was fizzing, her blood burning inside her. She was grateful that she had chosen the polo neck as she felt a flush rising from her chest. It came to her that his betrayal didn’t matter to her physically. He would only have to touch her and she would fall into his arms again.

  She was shocked at her body’s treachery. We are all animals, she thought. She closed the front door. ‘You’re right, it’s freezing,’ she said, shivering.

  Greg glanced at her, then away again. She hoped he hadn’t read any of her feelings in her face. She heard him swallow, and realised he was nervous. She’d assumed he would be in complete control of this meeting, having reflected, with bitterness, that he had experience of collecting belongings from an ex’s house. He had, after all, left his wife for her.

  ‘So, how are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine. And you?’

  ‘Well, thanks.’ Greg indicated the letters which Julia was clutching tightly, as if they would give her strength. ‘Anything for me?’

  ‘I thought you’d had your post redirected?’

  ‘I have. But if there’s anything addressed to both of us, anything that I need to know about…’

  ‘Like what? All the bills were in my name anyway. The bank has sent something about the mortgage, but it’s probably just the annual statement. And you know I’ve taken over the payments since you left.’ Julia tapped the envelope carrying the bank’s stamp. ‘I’ll deal with it later.’

  ‘Right.’ Greg exhaled, seeming to relax. ‘So where’s my stuff?’

  ‘There are five boxes in the dining-room, and some clothes left in the wardrobe in the back bedroom.’ Julia had no intention of telling Greg that she had opened the wardrobe to pack his clothes but had been unable to. For as long as they hung there, she had been able to cling to the hope that he might return.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’ll be in the kitchen. Coffee?’

  ‘Yes. Actually, there’s something I want to tell you. I’
ll just get everything packed.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Julia went into the kitchen, her heart pounding. What could Greg have to tell her? For a mad moment she fantasised he was going to tell her he had made a terrible mistake and wanted to come back to her. But obviously he would delay packing if that was the case. She filled the kettle with shaking hands and spooned coffee into the cafetière. She could hear his footsteps above her, the rattle of coat hangers. This would probably be the last time he would be in this house they had shared together. Would they even meet again? Her eyes blurred with tears as she poured the boiled water on the coffee grounds. She swallowed. She had promised herself that she would not, absolutely would not, give him any hint of her desolation. She blinked away her tears as Greg came downstairs into the hall. Three plastic bags rustled as he set them down by the kitchen door.

  ‘Think that’s everything.’ He attempted a breezy smile, as if he were vacating a hotel room and Julia were the receptionist. ‘Coffee ready?’

  ‘Just about.’ Julia plunged the coffee and poured it into two turquoise Denby mugs usually reserved for guests. She saw Greg glance at the mug tree where his Arsenal Football Club beaker used to hang.

  ‘Is my mug in the boxes?’

  ‘It broke,’ said Julia. In fact she had flung it on to the kitchen tiles the night he left the house. She handed him a steaming mug and retreated to the sink.

  ‘Oh.’

  There was a pause. Greg, still standing in the doorway, was taking quick sips of his coffee. Julia waited in silence. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  He cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, what I’ve got to tell you, well –’

  ‘Yes? What is it? It can’t be any worse than telling me you were leaving on our way back from holiday, can it?’ Julia was pleased to get that in. They had spent what she thought was a happy few days with friends in Norfolk. It was on the drive home that Greg had told her, eyes glued on the slow-moving traffic ahead, that he thought they should ‘take a break’. He had omitted to mention his new girlfriend to her. In fact he had denied there was anyone else when she asked him, only admitting later that he had already met Lisa.