Authors: Wendy Perriam
Aware of Felix relaxing, at last, she elaborated on Hanna’s baking skills and the cakes she made for every church bazaar, garden fête and village celebration. And it wasn’t until they were eating cake themselves – having chosen the chocolate gateau for dessert – that he returned to the subject of Silas.
‘This is just a thought,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair, ‘but are you absolutely sure you have to attend the funeral?’
‘Oh, definitely! There wouldn’t be a single mourner otherwise and I can’t let Silas go to his grave without a soul to say goodbye.’ She glanced at the
old fellow in the corner, who was now slurping his tea and staring vacantly into space. Maybe
he
had no friends and family, and might breathe his last with no one knowing or caring.
‘But I don’t like the thought of you being all alone on such a grisly
occasion
. I know you don’t want
me
there, but what about Amy and Hugo? Couldn’t they go with you, or even go on your behalf? Surely you’ve been through enough as it is?’
‘That’s out of the question, Felix. Amy’s thirty-four weeks pregnant, so I need to protect her as much as possible from any extra stress. In fact, I’ve deliberately played the whole thing down and given her a censored version, with none of the ghastly details about Silas being found on the toilet, or being dead for so long. I’ve let her think he died instantly and painlessly.’
‘But perhaps he did, Maria.’
‘Well, the post mortem wasn’t able to confirm that – only the fact he suffered a heart attack. Anyway, Amy’s upset enough already.’
‘But you just said she never met Silas, so it’s not like losing a father she knew and loved.’
‘Yes, that’s the whole point – she was desperate to know and love him, and now she’s lost the chance. And, in any case, she’s totally exhausted.’
‘But you’re tired, too.’
‘Maybe so, but I don’t have a full-time job. Her hours are quite
horrendous
and last night she wasn’t home till really late. The first Wednesday of every month, they have these big marketing dinners – black-tie affairs, at Claridge’s. They may sound grand but they’re just another form of work. And, even when she did get in, she went straight to her desk to polish up some job-spec or other – said it couldn’t wait, because she had to discuss it with her boss first thing in the morning. Yet she was up at the crack of dawn, today, as usual, although she didn’t get to bed till half past one.’
‘Well, Hugo, then. Couldn’t
he
attend the funeral, to spare both you and Amy?’
‘No, that would be completely inappropriate. Besides, he’ll probably be away. You see, at long, long last, they’ve fixed the date for the court case in Dubai and, as he’s one of the key witnesses, he’s booked to fly there on the 20th. That’s less than three weeks away and even if by some stroke of luck they managed to fit in Silas’s funeral before then, I wouldn’t dream of asking him to slog out to Lewisham for the sake of a virtual stranger. To be honest, he’s even more stressed than Amy – incredibly anxious about the trial and having to prepare his witness statements, on top of all his other work.’ She pushed her plate away, having lost all interest in the gateau. ‘No, I’m the one who has to go – me and me alone – and, anyway, I want to. It’s
my final service to Silas, you could say, and, after that, I’ll devote myself to
you
.’
‘Oh, darling,’ he said, taking both her hands in his, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been pressuring you. I just didn’t realize how fraught your life is right now, what with Amy and Hugo’s problems, on top of all the Silas stuff. So let’s forget Cornwall altogether, at least for the next few weeks. If we lose the chapel, we lose it, but it’s not the end of the world. There’ll be other properties. And when this is over and done with and you’ve had a while to recover,
that’s
the time to reschedule.’
No, she mused, wretchedly, it most certainly was not. Amy’s baby was due in just six weeks and it would be unthinkable to be absent during the last fortnight of the pregnancy. So, if Silas’s funeral was seriously delayed, as seemed likely at the moment, there would be no chance of going anywhere before January next year.
‘Hello. This is Maria Brown. Could I please speak to the Access Benefits Officer, Mr Clement Codd.’
‘Hold on,’ said the bored female voice, ‘I’ll see if he’s around.’
Please let him be, Maria prayed, otherwise she might lose her nerve. It did seem an imposition to be pushing the poor man, let alone asking favours.
‘Mr Codd? Look, I’m really sorry to bother you, but I’m in a bit of fix. It’s a matter of some urgency that I go down to view a property in Cornwall, but I can’t make any arrangements until I have some idea of when Silas’s funeral might be. So, if it could be sooner rather than later, that would be a terrific help.’
‘Actually, I was about to phone you to check on convenient dates. We completed the search last Friday, as you know, and found no will, or
valuables
, or any trace of living relatives. So I registered the death this morning and now I need to book a slot at the crematorium. The statutory funerals are always at 9.30 in the morning, but you do have some choice as to date. And, if you’re keen to speed things up, the first slot I could offer you is Friday, July 22nd.’
She did some quick calculations in her head. Friday was the life class – the last one of the term and maybe the last one altogether, if Felix moved out of London – but, with such an early funeral, she could be back in time for it. The 22nd was also Amy’s final day at work, since by then she would be thirty-six weeks pregnant. However, if she and Felix left for Cornwall immediately after the class, they could return to London the following
Monday or Tuesday. Surely Amy wouldn’t miss her during so brief a spell, especially as the pressures would be enormously reduced once she had started her maternity leave. On the downside, though, Hugo would already be in Dubai and she jibbed at the thought of leaving her heavily pregnant daughter alone in the house. Irritably, she shook her head, as if to dislodge the conflicting requirements and priorities; near-impossible to balance, without upsetting one person or another.
‘The crematorium’s not actually in Lewisham,’ Mr Codd was explaining, ‘but just a mile or two away, in Hither Green. You’ll need to take a train to Grove Park station, then catch the 284 bus, which stops directly outside. And we like you to arrive at least—’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just had another idea. Is there any chance I could go to Cornwall
before
the funeral – let’s say this weekend?’
‘That’s entirely up to you, Miss Brown.’
‘I mean, if I left on the 16th – Saturday – would you need me for anything?’
‘No. Once I’ve confirmed the date as the 22nd, then everything else is down to the funeral director. He’ll collect the body from the mortuary, prepare the coffin and arrange a minister to take the service. Actually, I’d like to give your phone number to the minister, so he can ring you for a chat, a day or two beforehand. But, as long as you’re contactable in Cornwall, I can’t see any problem.’
‘Yes, I’ll have my mobile with me – the same number you always ring.’
So, Saturday it was! And, considering all the complications, it was a
definite
advance to have actually found a date, and one that seemed devoid of any hitch. Even if they didn’t return from Cornwall till the Wednesday, they would still be back before Hugo left, since he was catching a flight to Dubai that very evening. ‘By the way,’ she added, returning her attention to the phone call, ‘I’m extremely glad to hear there’ll be a proper service. I thought the free funerals might dispense with any ceremony.’
‘Please don’t call them “free”,’ Mr Codd reproved. ‘The council defrays the cost, but that doesn’t mean we do them on the cheap. On the contrary, we make every effort to ensure the whole experience is as dignified as possible. We even provide a floral tribute for the coffin and, if you couldn’t attend the service, then
I
would go in your place, simply as a mark of respect.’
All at once, she felt close to tears: tears of gratitude about Silas’s last rites; tears of relief that they could leave for Tywardreath in less than
forty-eight
hours. It was Kate she had to thank for changing her mind. Her outspoken friend had told her how unwise it was to risk her relationship
with Felix – and all it offered in terms of companionship, security and passion – for the sake of a shit who’d deserted her an age ago, and was now a bag of bones on a mortuary slab.
Even Kate, however, couldn’t make the trip a happy one – not with the funeral hanging over her, and the dilemma about the chapel. She was going more as a duty and out of love for Felix, but at least she had come to her senses in putting him first.
‘S
O ARE YOU
a painter, too, Ben?’ Maria asked, turning to the
dark-haired
man on her left. She’d been so absorbed in talking to the Croatian sculptor, sitting on her other side, she had more or less ignored Ben.
‘No. I trained as a furniture-maker, but my main line of work at present is making wall-reliefs in wood. George was decent enough to buy some – you can see them over there.’ He pointed to the opposite wall, where three reliefs hung side by side, each framed in a contrasting textured wood. ‘I tend to use what I call “found and forgotten” timber – things like battered
fence-posts
and discarded lathes from roofs.’
‘I’m afraid I’m too far away to do them justice, but after supper I’ll study them in depth.’ Maria shifted her gaze from the wall-reliefs to take in the whole barn – its soaring, high-vaulted roof and the huge open-plan space, arranged in three separate sections: an old-fashioned kitchen adjoining this living/dining area (the large oak table seating them all with ease) and, at the far end, George’s studio, with two easels, a long trestle table and a cache of paintings stacked against the wall. The ancient wooden beams reminded her of a church – a church full not of silver plate but of unusual artefacts. Every wall was crowded with pictures – mostly done by George’s friends – and the shelves held ceramic pots, along with small stone sculptures. And, on a low table near the sofa, was Daniel’s collection of treasures washed in by the sea: a ship’s lamp from a wreck, a broken Spanish guitar, half a dozen copper nails from some ancient galleon, and one sad, abandoned plimsoll.
Quickly, she returned her attention to Ben, aware he was still speaking.
‘I like to use wood from a single, local source for each of my reliefs. You see, I’m interested in how timber responds to its environment; the way all its marks and blemishes are a record of its history,’
‘How nice that you celebrate blemishes, immortalize them, even!’
He laughed. ‘I don’t see it quite like that, but it’s an interesting idea.’
‘Hey, Maria,’ Emily called, from further down the table. ‘George says you and Felix are thinking of buying some sort of chapel. Can you tell us what and where?’
‘Oh, yes, it’s in Tywardreath, and we went to view it yesterday, the minute we arrived. Actually, Felix had seen it already, about a month ago, and fell instantly in love with it. And I felt just the same. Then, first thing this morning, the owner showed us round again and we both think it’s pretty near perfect.’
In her mind, she saw, once more, the simple, granite structure; the tiled slate roof and high-beamed ceiling inside, similar to this one, but on a much smaller scale. What appealed to her particularly was its solidity and
character
; the sense of prayer and history giving it an other-worldly atmosphere. ‘It has a most unusual layout, with the two bedrooms downstairs, and a little spiral staircase leading to the upper floor, which is open plan, with a gallery, and light streaming in from the tall, arched windows.’
‘And the original pulpit is still in situ,’ Felix added, with a grin. ‘The only problem is, Maria and I can’t decide which of us will get to give the Sunday sermon.’
Everybody laughed.
‘Well, I’ll come and listen,’ Emily promised, ‘whichever one of you presides.’
‘Do help yourselves to seconds.’ Inelegantly, George shoved a couple of dishes along the table. ‘I’m afraid there’s no waitress service, unless Daniel wants to oblige.’
‘Sod off!’ Daniel retorted, although with undisguised affection. The two made an incongruous pair: white-haired George at least three decades older than his partner, who resembled a pageboy in a Renaissance painting, with his shoulder-length bob of flaxen hair and bright, distinctive clothes.
‘And pass the wine round,’ George added. ‘There’s plenty more, so don’t stint yourselves.’
Maria had no intention of stinting herself on anything this evening. She owed it to Felix to make these few days special and enjoyable, rather than cloud them with her cares. And, much to her amazement, she had actually succeeded in clearing her mind of all her current anxieties. She could justify such uncharacteristic hedonism because, if she returned to London revived and refreshed, she would be better able to give of her best, first to Silas, at the funeral, and then to Amy, during the last weeks of the pregnancy.
‘I’m planning a series of landscapes,’ she heard Felix announce to Daniel. ‘And I want to avoid all traces of romanticism. I regard nature as basically
indifferent to us humans; going its own unfettered way and maybe sweeping us off the planet in a tsunami or an earthquake, and I hope to capture some of that bleakness in the work.’
Daniel paused with a forkful of chicken halfway to his mouth. ‘But isn’t landscape art more interesting if it contains some spiritual element, or even a sense of the sublime?’
As the others joined in the discussion, Maria felt she was almost back at art school, but a very different establishment from the one of long ago. Instead of feeling out of things, she had been totally accepted by this group of professional artists, who appeared to regard her as their equal. And it was definitely enticing to think this could be her own new world; these people her associates; her work included in their joint shows. She might even get commissions, if she used their contacts and drew on their
long-established
client base. And there were bound to be more friendly meals and gatherings; maybe even close friendships with one or two of the women. She had been feeling rather lonely of late, especially with Kate and family away for half the summer.
And, although she would never admit it, Amy and Hugo’s stylish but arid house, with its
Homes and Gardens
atmosphere, had never really suited her, nor the company they kept: all middle-class, all thirtyish, all well-heeled business types. Here, in contrast, was every type and age of person, from the elderly Croatian, Ivan, to Lil, the baby-faced young ceramicist, with her East End accent and her patched and tattered jeans. And none of them seemed to waste their time keeping their homes spotless and uncluttered, or fretting about investments, or slavishly following fashion. She also liked the way that Gillian’s three children had been permitted to stay up, rather than banished to their beds as an unruly element. Bored with sitting at the table for so long, they were now playing on the floor, and no one seemed to mind their giggles, squabbles or even occasional shrieks. She allowed herself to fantasize about bringing her grandchild here, if only for a week or so, and introducing it to the joys of community living, in the hope it might imbibe some in-depth knowledge about arts and crafts and culture.
Ben reached for the bottle of Chablis and offered her a top-up. There was no need to decline because, although she and Felix had hired a car for this trip, neither of them had to drive this evening, since they were staying on the premises – in the converted pigsty, of all things; still empty after being vacated by a print-maker. In fact, she almost
wanted
to get high, as it helped to keep the worries at bay; the pressing need for a decision, if not now, then soon.
‘I thought landscape art was dead and buried,’ the jewellery-maker, Frances, said provocatively, her hand-made enamelled bracelets jangling on her wrists. ‘At least for serious artists. Don’t they leave it to Sunday painters these days, or to the tribe of commercial crowd-pleasers?’
‘How can it be over,’ Daniel countered, ‘when we’re part of nature and live surrounded by it? In any case, each new generation depicts it in a different way.’
The argument continued, until Lil suddenly exclaimed, ‘Hey! Look at that sunset,’ and all eyes turned to the large window facing west. The sky was aflame with scarlet, gold, vermilion; the sun itself a fierce, fiery ball, causing everything around it to dazzle, blaze and glow.
‘Let’s go outside,’ Emily suggested, ‘and watch it from the garden.’
They all got up and trooped out; gazing past George’s well-stocked vegetable beds to the rolling farmland beyond. With a great whir and flutter of wings, a cackle of rooks began rising from the fields and skittering home to roost and, soon, the line of ancient beeches by the farmhouse was black with tiny bodies, each trying to push another off a favourite branch or perch.
‘Let
us
be rooks!’ Gillian’s youngest proposed, and all three children went flying down the lane, flapping their arms and cawing. Despite the hubbub, there was a sense of essential peace in the warm scented air and balmy summer evening; the sun burnishing the ripening wheat to a deeper shade of gold, and the radiant sky flaunting its flamboyant colours, like a work of art itself.
As Maria stood and watched, she felt a similar glow flooding through her body, not just because her mood had so magically transformed, but because she realized at this moment that all her life she had been seeking her natural element and now, at last, she had found it.