Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

‘Would you like me to choose, luv?’ she asked.

I nodded my agreement. She suggested ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, which, of course, even I had heard of, and ‘Be Not Afraid’, originally an American Catholic hymn, which I hadn’t.

That hymn began with the verse: You shall cross the barren desert, But you shall not die of thirst, You shall wander far in safety, Though you do not know the way. It’s chorus was: Be not afraid, I go before you always, Come follow me, And I shall give you rest.

I was moved by the words. It made me think of Robbie not knowing the way and seeking rest, and it reminded me of how I had almost always been moved by the Bible whenever I encountered quotations or readings. Even though I didn’t actually believe a word that was in it.

‘But can you have a Catholic hymn at a C of E funeral?’ I asked.

‘Oh, Gerry doesn’t worry about stuff like that, chuck,’ responded the vicar’s wife cheerily. ‘In any case he’s so high church there’s some round here think he secretly is RC!’

I smiled and told Gladys those two hymns would be fine.

She then asked if either Robert or I would like to speak about Robbie at the service. I shook my head vehemently. I knew I would not be able to do so, and I really didn’t feel I could sit and listen to the husband I now knew had deceived me for so long eulogizing about the son he had also grievously deceived.

Gladys suggested that if I told her a little about Robbie then her husband could give a short address.

‘He’s surprisingly good at that sort of thing, is Gerry. Still, plenty of practice, I suppose,’ she remarked.

She also said that if I wanted to lay on a little ‘do’, as she called it, after the service, I might prefer to use the village pub, the Lamb and Flag, rather than have a load of people descending on Highrise.

I agreed to that with alacrity. I would have preferred nothing at all, but if there had to be a ‘do’, and I supposed that there did, then the pub was definitely the best alternative.

‘But I doubt there’ll be a lot of people,’ I said. ‘We’ve never mixed much in the village, you see, and we don’t really have many friends...’

I finished the sentence lamely, letting it trail away. Of course we didn’t have friends. Robert had seen to that. Friends might have found him out, I supposed.

Gladys had begun to speak again. I tuned in halfway through.

‘. and you can be quite sure there’ll be more than you think. There’s a tradition in this part of the world to turn out for the funeral of one of their own. All the regular congregation will be there, you can be sure of that, and goodness knows who else...’

I drifted off once more. The very thought made me feel sick. Would I be expected, then, to make polite conversation with total strangers? Was this the price I had to pay for ensuring my son had a decent burial and was laid to rest somewhere that was special to him?

Gladys did have a bossy side, as I’d suspected, and a conviction that she was in the right. Although I also suspected that she probably was, more often than not, I considered challenging her. Or even just backing out of the whole thing. But I didn’t. I just went along with it.

On the day of the funeral, Friday the 11th of November, eight days after Robbie’s death, it was tipping down with rain. From the windows of Highrise only a veiled curtain of water and mist could be seen, effectively masking the moors from view. It seemed appropriate.

My father drove up from Hartland that morning. I had managed to keep him at bay until then and I’d asked him if he’d mind driving home again after the service as we didn’t feel able to cope with having anyone to stay right then, not even him. I felt guilty but I had no choice. Apart from anything else, the more time he spent with us the more likely he was to pick up on the atmosphere between Robert and me and to start asking questions I couldn’t deal with.

I dressed in the navy-blue suit I’d bought for my gran’s funeral all those years ago, navy chosen because she’d so hated funereal black. Rather miraculously, it still fitted me, more or less, but I knew I had already lost some weight since Robbie’s death. There was a navy hat, a kind of trilby, to match, and, coincidentally, my best raincoat, which was certainly needed that day, was also navy. I couldn’t wear the black patent court shoes which would have been my first choice because my burned feet continued to pain me, but in any case sensible brogues were rather better suited to the weather.

The service was scheduled to begin at 2 p.m. At 12.30 Robert was still sitting slumped at the kitchen table, unshaven and dishevelled, looking every inch the rough and ready rigger I now knew him to be.

‘You’re going to be late,’ I told him sharply.

‘I wasn’t even sure that you wanted me to come,’ he mumbled.

‘What, to our son’s funeral?’ I snapped. ‘Have you completely taken leave of your senses? Whatever happened last week, that boy worshipped you. Though, with what I now know, I rather wish he hadn’t.’

Robert winced, as if in pain.

‘Of course you must come,’ I commanded. ‘Just go and get ready. Quickly.’

He left the room and reappeared half an hour later, clean-shaven, hair washed and slicked down. He was wearing the beautiful black suit he’d bought for our wedding. That still fitted him pretty well too and, of course, had barely been worn since. He was carrying his Burberry raincoat over one arm. His shirt was bright white and crisply pressed. I’d always enjoyed looking after Robert’s shirts and presenting them to him in the best possible order. Not any more, I thought. He could iron his own damned shirts.

Then I noticed his tie. It was Robbie’s county swimming tie, of which our son had been so proud. Indeed, the only tie he had ever really wanted to put around his neck.

I felt a lump in my throat. In spite of myself I was affected by Robert having thought of and chosen to wear that tie.

I reached out and touched it lightly. He lifted a hand towards mine, and I knew it was his intention to wrap his fingers around my fingers. The way he’d always done before. We both withdrew at the same time. Those days were over. For now anyway.

‘Shall we go?’ I asked. He nodded.

Dad was waiting alone in the sitting room, as if unsure what to do. He glanced up as I put my head round the door. Robert had let him in when he’d arrived earlier, and Dad had quite obviously been shocked by his appearance and demeanour. He looked relieved when he saw Robert now, smartly dressed and reasonably composed, standing by my side.

‘We’re ready if you are, Dad,’ I said.

If he’d noticed that Robert and I were not as we should be together, Dad had so far made no comment. But then, we’d just lost our only son and Dad his only grandson. Amidst the grief and despair of that one dreadful reality he was probably unlikely to have noticed anything much else that might be amiss.

‘I thought you’d like some time on your own,’ he said. Dad was not a big man and he seemed to have become smaller since I’d last seen him. He was in his mid-sixties, and the thin hair which barely covered his head had turned grey many years previously. His face also seemed grey that day. He too had loved Robbie dearly. Yet he could still be thoughtful and considerate. Which is more than I had been able to be in my behaviour towards him since Robbie’s death.

Even then all I could manage was a brief ‘Thanks’. Followed by: ‘The funeral car is here.’

Gladys had arranged that too. I’d said I’d drive. There were only ever going to be the three of us setting off from Highrise, and I’d told her we didn’t want any fuss or ceremony.