Chapter One

Who are all these people? Considering I lived with my mother for eighteen years and have only been away for three, I thought I’d have recognised more of them. I made myself inconspicuous, blending in with the milling crowds. Keeping my eyes on the matted winter grass, I hid in the layers of my woollen scarf and a borrowed black full-length coat. Snowdrops were sneaking out from bare patches of hard earth between the roots of the big sycamore tree. People were treading on them. That pained me.

There were so many people. That pained me too.

What was the point of meeting them all now she was gone? I didn’t want to talk to any of them. I couldn’t even think of being moved by anything anyone had to say. I wasn’t ready. I was there. That was the best I could offer. Why? Why, god, why did this have to happen?

A single blackbird chirruped along with the vicar’s familiar chant.

“Dust to dust...”

Why did she want to be buried? That I really couldn’t understand. Why would anyone want to be buried under all that mud, to rot away and be eaten by a myriad of crawling creatures? Cremation, that was more my style: cleaner, quicker, no creatures. I threw the paper-whites, her favourite, and a handful of earth onto the coffin, listening for the small thud as the bulbs came to rest over her heart. Then I turned to find Dan.

I didn’t want to go to the wake.

“It’s not a choice, Aneeta. You have to go.” I knew Dan was right. I didn’t want him to be right. I wanted that choice. But he was right and I did go.

Anyway, I realised in the end, I wouldn’t have known what to say to Andrew, Mum’s boyfriend of three years now. I suppose I’d have had to tell him if I wasn’t going. Mum would have been upset if I’d been rude.

So I went. Well we went, Dan and I. I don’t know how I’d have coped without Dan. It must have been hard for him. He really didn’t know anyone except me. All these faces; someone else’s life. Not his, not even mine in a way. Mum’s next-door neighbour was there but not with her husband. What happened to him, then? Her daughter was there, though, Sally-Ann. She was quite a lot older than me. I hadn’t really seen her much since they’d moved in. She was in her final year at secondary school at the time and I was still at the village primary, so we were worlds apart.

Then there was the vicar. He was still the same. Not that I knew him very well. We didn’t go to church except for the odd occasion such as Remembrance Sunday or Midnight Mass. But I used to see him around the village on his bike.

Dan and I took the footpath from the church. It was a bit muddy, but it was as escape. The wake was at the Lamb, where Mum worked. The pub was crowded and there was a roaring fire in the stone hearth. Yet there was a chill. A damp chill hung in the air. And it was quiet. Little more than a wave of murmur rose from the mourners perched on stools and squashed on benches round dark oak tables, with their familiar sticky veneer. Mum used to moan about the tables. She said nothing short of wire wool could shift a hundred years of spilled beer and nicotine. She sometimes complained about working at the pub. But then why did she go there on her nights off if she didn’t like the place?

Dan and I found a quiet corner and settled ourselves in. Dan got himself an orange juice and me a white wine. A lady came over to us with a ‘you must be Aneeta’ look. She said she hadn’t seen me since I was a baby.

I guess it was obvious who I was. I did look like Mum pretty much, but darker colouring. Mum had pale skin and almost chestnut hair. My skin was tanned, even now in February, and my hair was dark brunette. People said I looked Italian. Whereas Mum was an English rose.

This woman said she was a cousin. I knew she didn’t mean a first cousin. I was never very good on the old cousin thing. Second cousin once removed was it? Who knows? Anyway she was nice. She and mum used to play together when they were little, so she said.

We moved for the escape at around five. I said goodbye to Andrew, which was difficult. I do think he was pretty sweet on Mum. We went to find my Aunt and my two cousins. I promised I’d keep in touch with them properly – well I didn’t really have anyone else now. We agreed to meet up before they flew back to Mumbai a week on Friday.

*

“Dan, can we go there?” It just came to me suddenly, this desperate need to see the place where she died.

“Go where?” I knew he knew what I meant, so I guess he meant where exactly.

“You go left off here, then there’s a railway bridge and I think it’s just past there.”

Dan pulled over onto the verge just before the bridge and we both got out of the car.

“I’ve got to get rid of these. They look ghastly.” In the fading light I gathered up the half dead bunches of garage flowers.

“Neet, what are you doing, hon?” Dan pleaded. “Leave them.”

“I can’t. They’ve got to go.”

“How do you know they were for your mum?”

I hesitated a moment then continued with renewed fervour. “No one else died, did they?”

“Well, no.” Dan studied his shoes.

“So they are for her, aren’t they?” I stole a glance in his direction. This time I wanted an affirmation, but Dan said nothing, and didn’t meet my eye.

He looked a little taken aback when I dumped the rotting mass on the back seat of his car. I ferreted in my handbag for the paper-white bulbs I had wrapped in a tissue and dug them a shallow grave with my nail file.

“Where did you get those?” Dan asked.

“They were on ‘buy one get one free’.” I carried on with my digging and pushed the bulbs in randomly at the base of the tree.

“Come on,” I said to Dan, squeezing his hand. “Let’s go.”