How to Say Goodbye. Katy Colins

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СКАЧАТЬ It wasn’t right, a woman her age having such a reaction like that. I worried about her health at the best of times. When she’d finally composed herself and realised that I wasn’t laughing along too, she’d tilted her head to one side and gently patted my hand and given me a strange, desperate sort of look. I busied about and made her another cup of tea. She’s not mentioned it again and neither have I.

      But I still carried on playing my game.

Chapter 3

      It was my birthday. I was grateful that so far that morning neither Linda nor Frank had made a fuss. Or even acknowledged it. I’d had a text from my mum telling me she’d give me my present when she saw me next. She was busy travelling around Latvia with a new boyfriend in his retro campervan, so I wasn’t holding my breath. I’d not heard from anyone else, but then I wasn’t sure who I expected to get in touch. The one person I foolishly still wanted to hear from had long forgotten about me.

      The first birthday after Henry had left me was the worst. By the end of the day I felt wrung out from all the adrenalin that had coursed through me every time my emails pinged or my phone rang, imagining it was him ringing, him emailing. Of course he hadn’t sent me a card in the post, he hadn’t sent me anything at all, not even a text message. That evening I cried and cried. He was the only person I wanted to hear from on my special day, and I got nothing. These days I didn’t raise any hope of hearing from him, and the acceptance did make the hurt a little easier to bear.

      ‘Ah, Grace, there you are.’ Frank wandered out of the employee bathroom wiping his hands on his pale grey suit trousers, breaking my thoughts. ‘Team meeting in five, guys!’

      He wasn’t going to sing Happy Birthday like last year, was he? I wasn’t sure I could stand that level of embarrassment.

      Luckily, as we took our seats around his messy oval table, there wasn’t a cake or candles or streamers to be seen. I was safe.

      ‘Hope you’ve all had good weekends?’ he asked Linda and I.

      ‘Oh yes, excellent.’ Linda slurped her tea. She would only ever drink out of the colour-changing unicorn mug that wasn’t dishwasher-friendly. ‘Ladies’ night at the Swan.’ She gave a knowing smile. ‘You should come along one of these days, Grace. Us single gals need to stick together.’

      I laughed awkwardly. Linda was at least ten years older than me and fancied herself as a bit of a man-eater since her bitter divorce four years ago.

      ‘Maybe…’

      ‘Grace?’ Frank asked. ‘Good weekend?’

      ‘Yep, just a quiet one for me…’ I coughed as my voice crackled, reminding me that this was the first time I’d spoken to anyone since Raj in his shop on Friday evening.

      ‘Good. Right then.’ Frank clapped his large hands together. ‘Let’s get down to business. Linda, an update from Coffin Club please?’

      Her eyes lit up. ‘I think this was the best one yet! Over two hundred exhibitors from across the world; there was loads on offer. I felt so inspired. You should come along to the next one, Grace.’

      ‘Er, no, well, I –’

      ‘Grace wouldn’t go if you paid her, isn’t that right?’ Frank chuckled.

      I preferred to stay out of anything to do with Coffin Club, the affectionate name given to the annual Funeral Expo held in London. I’d managed to think up excuses to avoid going every year, until Frank had given up asking me. Linda liked to make a weekend of it anyway; she would meet up with some of her industry friends and gossip about changes to the profession, returning with armfuls of freebies.

      Frank, along with my mum, thought they knew why I’d left my life in London behind me. I’d told them the cost of living, pollution, and sheer volume of people wasn’t for me. No one knew the real reason I’d fled the capital, and that was how it was going to stay.

      ‘Something like that.’ I cleared my throat.

      ‘As usual, there was showcasing of the most innovative products. Did you know that you can now add QR codes to gravestones?!’

      Linda was always like this after the expo, returning buoyed up by ideas and ways we could be more future-thinking as a business, until Frank would have to gently bring her back down to earth. The funeral industry didn’t do forward-thinking very well. The ideas she always seemed most fired up about were all high-concept, and usually came with a high price tag.

      ‘Sorry, you know I’m not so up on my technology-speak,’ Frank admitted with a self-conscious chuckle.

      ‘A QR code. You know, those funny little black and white squares, a bit like a barcode, that you can scan on your phone?’ Still blank. ‘Never mind, you’d know one if you saw it. Anyway, they’re encouraging funeral homes to install this software so the families can input their loved ones’ details and then anyone with a QR reader at a gravesite can just scan it and the whole history of the person comes up!’

      ‘Next you’ll be telling me they’re adding phone screens and Facebook pages to tombstones,’ Frank guffawed.

      Linda leant forward excitedly. ‘Actually there’s a company in Slovenia, I think, who incorporate fourteen-inch touchscreens onto headstones. At the touch of a button they share information about the deceased’s life, with videos and photos. It even has the ability to play films!’

      ‘Can you imagine!’ Frank said, half choking on the words. ‘The cost would be extortionate.’

      I spotted Linda’s shoulders sink.

      ‘It’s a bit unusual,’ I said, ‘but it would be fascinating. Imagine wandering amongst graves, being able to find out the stories of the names written in the stone. Stories that we’d never get to know without some serious digging around the genealogy department of the library. It would be a great way to keep their memories alive.’

      ‘Exactly. Surely we could add it to the maybe list?’

      ‘I’ve been in this business for nearly forty years and never heard of such a thing. But I guess times have changed. People want bells and whistles and eco, vegan, plastic-free funerals nowadays…’ Frank trailed off, looking miserable. ‘OK, let’s move on. Can we have an update on the recent services? Grace, if you could start first please?’

      I flicked through my notepad, ignoring a slight huff from Linda that her idea had been rejected so quickly.

      ‘Sure, well the Davidson family burial was well attended and went without a hitch –’

      ‘Ah, let me stop you there. I actually have my own feedback somewhere.’ Frank flicked through his folder. ‘Ah, here.’ He picked up a torn white envelope. ‘It was addressed to me but really it should have gone to you.’ I felt the rush of heat on my cheeks as I read the heartfelt thank you card from Mrs Davidson for the funeral we’d arranged for her husband, Ernest. A keen fisherman and golfer who’d lost his long battle with throat cancer. ‘Another one singing your praises.’

      ‘You’re going to need to find another blank wall to fill soon, Grace,’ Linda said.

      ‘I hope that’s not a hint of jealousy, Linda?’ Frank let out a tinkle of a chuckle.

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