The week since they had returned from Skye had been strained, not loving and caring, as it ought to have been, not full of affection

Sue Lawrence is a popular novelist as well as a cookery book author. The Night He Left is published by Freight. Down to the Sea, her first historical mystery, was published by Contraband in 2019. Sue’s latest book, The Unreliable Death of Lady Grange, was published in March by Saraband. 015

The minister was talking about Struan’s life; his school days, the pranks he got up to.

There was a murmur of approval and even some laughter when he relayed what a naughty schoolboy he had been, but Fiona was barely listening.

She had read the eulogy several times, in fact she had composed most of it with her mum, there was no need to hear it again.

She knew what came next: art college, architecture, marrying Dorothy, her birth . . .

She stared at the coffin, laden with flowers. She had not wanted any flowers but Dorothy had insisted – anything except lilies, she had told the florist.

Fiona glared at the polished casket that contained – she tried not to think of it – her father, her wonderful, funny, irreverent dad.

How would she cope without him? Looking at the coffin only made her feel worse; she bowed her head.

She was holding it together. She had to be strong, today of all days, for Jamie more than anyone.

She glanced to her right where Jamie sat, dressed in his sweatshirt and school trousers.

He had refused to put on a smarter top, had insisted that Pa loved that sweatshirt with Dennis the Menace on it. He would wear it for Pa.

Coping

He was looking up at the minister and seemed to be listening intently; he seemed, surprisingly, fine. And to her left was Dorothy.

She also seemed to be coping, she had even heard her snigger when the minister was telling the story of Stru and Mark as students dismantling someone’s Mini and getting it in the lift up to the top floor in their halls, where they reassembled it.

But her mum had been on sleeping pills since he died 12 days before. She seemed strange, not herself.

Fiona stared at the long drapes hung from the ceiling at either side of the coffin, the purple velvet cascading onto the floor.

There was a dark brown curtain hovering over the bier. This one would soon shudder into place above the empty space when the coffin was lowered down below to be cremated.

She took a deep breath, she could not bear to think of it.

She focused instead on the two arrangements of flowers laid out on the steps in front of the coffin. They were beautiful, white roses and those other waxy flowers with the unpronounceable name.

Who would they be from? They had stipulated no flowers in the announcement.

Fiona and Dorothy had disagreed about what to write in the newspaper.

Dorothy had wanted, as well as loving wife, father and grandfather, to say that he had been adored by his friends and wider family.

Fiona thought that was unnecessary, you were just meant to mention close family.

Dorothy also tried to remove his date of birth, saying he had always been funny about his age.

Fiona overruled that one, showing her dozens of other announcements, each with dates of both birth and death.

“You’re making him out as someone who cared what others thought about him, Mum.”

“Well, he was actually quite a vain man, you know.” “Don’t be ridiculous.”

And so it went on. The week since they had returned from Skye had been strained, not loving and caring, as it ought to have been, not full of affection.

Whenever Jamie was around, Fiona and her mum were civil and Jamie himself was the recipient of both women’s hugs, but the strain was too much.

Sympathetic

When Jamie was in bed, and mother and daughter were having a glass of wine in the kitchen, Dorothy admitted that she was convinced Fiona blamed her for insisting on the Hebridean holiday.

And if they hadn’t been on that ferry for two hours, he’d have been fine, they could have treated him easily.

Fiona tried to persuade her mum that there was no blame, nothing could have been done.

Though, having spoken to the doctors in private, she knew he could have been saved if he’d reached the hospital within an hour.

That’s the islands for you, one of the doctors had said, a sympathetic look on his face.

She looked up as the minister mentioned her name. “Struan’s daughter Fiona and his grandson Jamie brought so much joy to his life, especially during his last few months when they lived back with them in the family house.

“He told a friend that he could now enjoy retirement properly, now he had a purpose, as a hands-on grandpa.”

She knew he was near the end. She must concentrate. If only she didn’t feel so tired.

God, she had all those people to speak to on the way out. Again, Dorothy and she had disagreed on this.

Why did they have to do the “meet and greet” at the exit to the crematorium?

Could they not just see everyone at the tea afterwards?

No, tradition insisted and so did her mother. The final hymn was announced and everyone stood. She glanced round to look at the rest of the mourners.

There seemed to be hundreds of people, how did he know so many?

The organist began to play “The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended” and she put on her glasses and attempted to sing.

The line-up at the side door of the crematorium as mourners filed out was as awful as she had anticipated.

Fiona and Dorothy stood side by side and were kissed or hugged by what seemed like hundreds of people, only half of whom Fiona recognised.

Embrace

Martha and Allie had taken Jamie out first, saying they’d keep him busy till the reception.

Thank God for Martha, Fiona thought. What would she do without her?

“What a friend he was.” Mark had tears in his eyes. “I will miss him so much.

“Even though we only saw each other once or twice a year when I was home on leave, we had such good times, Fiona.

“Well, you were there the last time we had lunch and...”

“Mark, you’re holding up the queue,” Dorothy said, pointing to the long line behind him. “We can chat longer at the reception.”

Fiona gave Mark a peck on the cheek and looked down the line of everyone she had yet to greet. She had no idea who they all were.

As Mark was giving his mother yet another embrace, she looked towards the back of the crematorium at the end of the queue.

There was someone standing alone, not in the orderly line like everyone else.

In the dim light, he looked shifty, as if he were lurking for some reason.

More tomorrow.