Katy Colins - How to Say Goodbye

Suddenly I heard faint footsteps, followed by the creak of the door opening.

‘Ah, Grace! Sorry I’m late –’ the familiar voice chimed, then stopped. She glanced around the room. ‘Am I late? Or am I early?’

‘Evening, Ms Norris!’ I couldn’t help but smile at her. ‘You’re right on time. Come on in.’

‘I wasn’t sure if I could make it, which is why I didn’t mention it to you earlier. I had to see if Alma would watch Purdy for me, you see, and Alma is a bit of a stickler for a routine,’ she babbled, taking off her coat and laying it on an empty chair. ‘A bit like you, actually,’ she chuckled.

‘Well, it’s great to see you. Help yourself to some cake or a drink. You, er, you didn’t see anyone else out there did you?’

‘No dear, I’m afraid I didn’t.’

My heart sank. Stay positive, Grace.

‘I’ll just go and have a final check.’ I jogged to the creaky doors, out to an empty corridor, and peered through the main doors. Ms Norris was right; not a soul in sight.

‘So, erm, thanks again for coming. Possibly it’s the weather keeping others away…’

At that exact moment, the thin window frames, dripping in condensation, gave an almighty rattle.

‘These are delicious,’ she grinned as crumbs of chocolate brownie fell on her plum-coloured skirt.

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s your recipe. I have to say that using a dash of cayenne pepper really worked.’

‘It’s been my secret ingredient for many years.’ She tapped a finger to the side of her nose.

I glanced at the clock. Seven thirty-five. We had this room for another twenty-five minutes. I couldn’t pack away now; she’d made such an effort to brave the outdoors to attend.

‘So…’ I cleared my throat and rummaged in my suit jacket pocket for my index cards. I was about to launch into my pre-prepared speech, for something to fill the time, when a loud creak stopped me.

‘Is this the funeral meet-up thing?’ asked a wobbly, high-pitched voice.

I spun on my chair to see a young boy – he couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen – stick his jet-black, shaggy hair into the room. His dark eyes darted from side to side. The rest of his body remained outside, unsure whether or not to enter.

I leapt to my feet. ‘Oh yes, hi, please come in!’

The lad shuffled in, dragging his feet. He refused to smile but his serious dark brown eyes lit up when he saw the cakes on offer.

‘I’m Grace – I work at Ryebrook Funeral Home – and this is Ms Norris.’ The old lady gave a cheerful wave, dropping more crumbs to the floor.

‘I’m Marcus,’ he mumbled, sloping into the room. ‘Can I have some cake?’

‘Sure, help yourself. There’s plenty to go round.’

Hungrily, Marcus started filling his paper plate with one of everything. I glanced at the clock. Seven forty. The invite had said seven. I wasn’t very good with things not running to plan, but at least people had shown up. Never mind the fact that Marcus was not exactly our target audience, being much too young to sign up to a prepaid funeral plan.

I decided that I would still stick to my original script. I should be able to get through everything before the line dancing group needed the room at eight p.m. I stood up and cleared my throat with as much authority as I could muster. I was conscious that we looked a bit ridiculous, the three of us, sat in such a large circle of empty chairs. I focussed on the pastel-coloured cards in my hands.

‘Thank you for coming this evening. My name is Grace Salmon, and I’m a funeral arranger at Ryebrook Funeral Home. We are a small business who have been in the funeral trade for over fifty-five years. Our aim is for you to have your funeral your way, on your big day. I wanted to host this event tonight as a way to debunk some of the myths around what we do. For example, not all funeral arrangers are fans of Halloween.’

I chuckled. My awkward laugh was the only sound in the room.

‘Um. Anyway – there have been a lot of misconceptions from pop culture and horror films, but the truth is that we’re here to assist in one of the most rewarding and important events, in the most dignified way that we can. I’m going to run through a few of the other popular myths before passing over to the room for your questions –’ I stopped abruptly and looked at the clock.

‘Actually, as there’s only the three of us you probably don’t need to hear all of this…’ I sat back down, feeling self-conscious, and placed the stack of cards on the empty seat next to me. ‘We don’t have much time left before we need to go, so, er, maybe it’s easier if you ask me whatever you would like to know and I’ll try to answer as many questions as I can?’

There was a silence, only filled with Marcus loudly chewing on a slice of Bakewell tart.

‘I’ll start.’ Ms Norris raised a wrinkled hand. ‘I wanted to ask you, Grace, what made you get into a career like this?’

‘Well,’ I cleared my throat. ‘I always knew I wanted to work in a role that helped others.’

I parroted the well-worn answer. Tonight had already been a disaster; there was no chance I was going to dive into the truth.

Marcus slowly raised a skinny arm. ‘I have a question.’

I smiled at him encouragingly. He had a smear of chocolate from one of the brownies on his chin. ‘Go on.’

‘My grandma died last year and I want to know…’ He paused.

I expected him to ask what happened to her body, how embalming works or what temperature the incinerator reaches – a teenager fascinated with the ghoulish side of our world. I wasn’t prepared for what he eventually found the words to ask.

‘I want to know…’ A deep intake of breath. ‘When I’m going to start feeling happy again?’

A soft, gentle sound passed from Ms Norris’s lips.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Marcus.’ He was blinking rapidly and refused to take his eyes from his scuffed trainers.

I paused for a moment. ‘What was her name? Your grandma?’

‘June. She was eighty-seven, which everyone said was “a good innings” and “her time” and other things like that. I just don’t get why there’s loads of old people still alive when she isn’t. It’s not fair.’ He angrily kicked the leg of the chair next to him then flashed a wide-eyed look at Ms Norris. ‘God, sorry. I didn’t mean, like…’

‘It’s quite alright, dear. It’s very normal to be angry when you lose someone you love.’ Ms Norris bobbed her head in sympathy.

Marcus lowered his voice. ‘She was like you, actually. She loved those mini apple pies from Aldi. She’d pick off the edges and secretly give them to my dog when my mam wasn’t looking.’ He pointed to the neat line of crumbs that Ms Norris had left on her paper plate. ‘I just miss her so much.’ His voice cracked and tightly bunched-up fists flew to stem the tears from his eyes. ‘My mam thought if I came here tonight it might help…’

I’d foolishly expected questions on what options people have during a cremation, the most popular funeral songs, or whether eco-funerals were the future. Not this.

‘Do you talk about June – I mean your grandma – much at home?’ I asked gently.

Marcus shook his head.

‘When I lost my Billy I could hardly function,’ Ms Norris said, handing Marcus a tissue that he accepted. He blew his nose noisily.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ I paused then turned to her. ‘Who’s Billy?’

In our regular meetings I’d never heard her mention a Billy.

‘My dog. I had Billy before Purdy. A King Charles Cavalier and exceedingly handsome if I do say so myself. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if it’s a pet or a person.’ She wafted a wrinkled hand. ‘To be honest I’ve met nicer animals than I have people in my time. When someone or something you love dies, it can make you feel like the world has spun off its axis and you’re barely holding onto the edges.’