one …’
‘No, no. You want one. You must. I’m very grateful.’
He poured Philip’s G and T and opened a bottle of German beer for himself.
‘I thought you weren’t drinking.’
‘I don’t count beer.’
Philip raised his eyebrows, which were scanty affairs compared to James’s.
‘No need to give me a look. I usually drink too much and in the days to come I’m probably going to drink much too much. Cheers. Thanks for coming.’
‘Cheers. Really glad to help.’
‘How’s it gone?’
‘Not bad. I don’t think there’ll be any real problems. The Hutchinsons were perfectly satisfied with Ferris’s. Well, “efficient and only slightly greasily subservient” were the actual words. It looks as if it’ll have to be Thursday. The vicar can’t do Friday. We could have twelve-thirty or three-thirty. Ferris’s recommend that we get back to them pretty quickly. “Experience shows, Mr Hollinghurst, that we do tend to have a bit of a rush in heatwaves.”’
‘Oh, grab twelve-thirty. The sooner the better, on the day. You said “the vicar”. You’ve found one, then.’
‘Your local man is the Reverend Martin Vigar. I told him you weren’t religious and he said, “I’m a pretty flexible sort of chap. I was actually thirty-two years with Allied Dunbar before I took up this lark.” I didn’t quite see that that followed, but I didn’t press the point.’
‘This “lark”!’
‘I know. Not sure I’d want him if I was a fervent believer but he sounds pretty convenient for our job. He asked if you wanted burial or cremation and I had to say I didn’t know. He pushed me very strongly towards cremation – apparently graveyards are bursting at the seams in London. I mean, what do you feel?’
‘Oh, Lord. Let me think. I need to think about that. Could you … um … start getting a bit of lunch, anything, just ferret around and see what you can find, and I’ll take my beer and … think. I’m also going to have a shower. I’ve sweated rather.’
Upstairs, the house was like a furnace. James had his third shower of the day, the nearest thing to a cold shower that was possible without feeling shock, then sat in the shade in the marital bedroom looking at the photo of Deborah on the dressing table. What would she want? Cremation, surely, her ashes strewn over a field on the family farm, an end to it all. To be somewhere for ever, as bones, that wouldn’t be her style at all.
He put on a pair of mauve pants and matching socks. It was so hot in the bedroom. If he wasn’t careful he’d need a fourth shower, so he carried his shoes, a pair of grey flannel trousers and a dark green shirt downstairs, where he dressed in the dark cool of the kitchen. Philip gave him quite a long look, and he realised that there was admiration in it. With his hairy chest, his flat (ish) stomach and his muscular legs, he achieved something quite rare in an Englishman in his forties. He didn’t look obscene with no clothes on.
‘I’m making a Spanish omelette,’ said Philip.
‘Perfect. I’ve decided on cremation.’
‘Good. That makes it easier. Now, the thing is, it’s normal when there isn’t what the vicar called “a specific congregational element” – in other words, in English, you didn’t attend a particular church – to use the nearest crematorium chapel.’
‘Oh, I hate those. The mechanism starting up, the coffin sliding away. If you’ve watched too much television you expect three pathologists to rush in and shout, “Stop!”’
‘I know, but you’ve never been to any church in Islington, you’re not in a strong position.’
‘No, you’re right. Oh, Lord. Oh, Philip, I dread the day.’
‘As of now the vicar can do both of Ferris’s times, but he also would like a swift decision. “It’s strange,” he said, “but deaths tend to come in batches, rather like London buses.”’
‘Do we really want this man?’
‘He’ll be perfect for our purposes. I’ll book him for the twelve-thirty slot. Oh, and he’s booked himself in provisionally to come round at four-thirty on Tuesday for a chat with you about Deborah. “So that I can introduce that personal element that I think is so all-important.”’
‘I dread it more and more, Philip.’
He whipped the top off another bottle of beer.
Max rang at ten past one, just as James was eating the very last mouthful of the Spanish omelette that Philip had cooked, delicious, the egg with just a faint moistness still, the onions as sweet as blossom, the tiny pieces of potato soft but with just a touch of crispness.
‘Hello, Dad. It’s ten past seven here but I thought I’d better catch you.’
‘Thanks. How are you, Max?’
‘I cried myself to sleep.’
James wanted to say, ‘So did I,’ but he found it hard to lie to Max.
‘How are you, Dad?’
‘I’m all right. Keeping busy. Philip’s here helping. He’s just made the most marvellous Spanish omelette. I felt guilty about enjoying it, but the body’s a funny thing. My heart’s aching, but my taste buds are unmoved. So, what’s happening? When are you coming?’
‘Well, I’ve booked my flight provisionally for Tuesday. I’d have liked to have come sooner, but the thing is, Dad …’ Max hesitated. He sounded embarrassed. ‘Dad, something very important is happening here on Monday. Well, it may not seem important to you, but it is to my work and I’d just like to be here. I hope you don’t think that sounds awful. Obviously if you really need me before Tuesday I can cancel.’
‘No, no, it looks as though the funeral’s going to be on Thursday. Tuesday’s fine.’
‘Are you sure, Dad?’
‘Absolutely sure. So … what’s happening on Monday?’
‘It may not seem much to you, Dad, and I mean, Mum’s death, I’ve hardly slept a wink, I’m devastated, but I can’t bring her back, and this is … well … to me it’s important, but I don’t want not to be with you if you need me …’
‘I’m all right, Max. Don’t tear yourself apart. Come on. Tell me. What’s happening on Monday?’
‘It probably won’t seem important.’
‘Tell me.’
James wished he hadn’t sounded so abrupt. Max was clearly finding this very difficult.
‘It’s a big planning meeting about some very important woodland that I care about very much. I’ve grown to love the Canadian woodlands and I want to be there to support our case.’
It’s a relief when your children
