Chapter 30
Stephen was standing by the sink washing up a plate when Bonnie walked in. He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled and she thought how odd that was, because she couldn’t remember the last time he’d greeted her with a pleasant expression.
‘Did it go well?’ he asked. Again odd, because he never asked about her day, only told her about his.
‘As much as could be expected,’ replied Bonnie. ‘It was very well attended.’
‘Burial or cremation?’
‘Burial. Then a wake.’
‘I have no idea why people expect to be fed and watered after a funeral,’ said Stephen with a sniff.
You wouldn’t, thought Bonnie, casting her mind back to Alma’s funeral. There had only been a few mourners because Alma had alienated most people. Not even Katherine, her so-called best friend, had attended it. The few pensioners who turned up uninvited to the church were shocked to find that no sandwiches had been laid on for after the service. Bonnie had argued it was the decent thing to do, but Stephen had called it an unnecessary expense.
‘A lot of people travelled a long way to pay their respects to Jack,’ said Bonnie.
‘Then they should have fortified themselves with a hearty breakfast.’
Bonnie made a face behind his back. To think that this time tomorrow she would be in another life sent a thrill fizzing through her down to her bones. She didn’t know how she’d managed to stay with Stephen for so long; she’d only been in the house five minutes now and already wanted to scream.
‘I’ve defrosted some pork loin medallions for tea,’ said Stephen, pumping some hand-cream out of the dispenser at the side of the sink and rubbing it into his palms.
‘Yes, fine,’ said Bonnie, though something was rattling around in her brain. They rarely had pork and it was always pasta on Thursday, never anything else. He’d broken with the pattern and that small thing concerned her because Stephen never did that. It meant something, but she didn’t know what.
‘I’ll go up and change before I start dinner,’ said Bonnie.
‘There’s no rush.’ Stephen poked the pork chops through the cling film. ‘They need another half-hour before they’re fully thawed, I’d say.’
Bonnie went into her bedroom and stripped off her black dress. She opened the wardrobe to hang it up and her scalp prickled as if something wasn’t right, in fact the feeling was as thick as sauce in the air. She flicked through her clothes, looked on the empty top shelf and down below on the floor where her case sat but nothing looked amiss. She was unduly anxious, she concluded. Her nerves would be in shreds by the morning if she didn’t pull herself together. She had one more night to endure, one more meal sitting opposite Stephen and his relentless chewing, one more morning waving him off to work. She had to act normal and claw through the next sixteen hours. It sounded hardly anything and at the same time, an eternity.
*
When Lew got home he walked into a wonderful aroma of beef cooking in red wine and a smiling Charlotte standing by the hob. It was a welcome sight given the wrong foot they’d been on for the past weeks. Lew walked over to her and gave her a kiss, intending it for her mouth but she gave a little twist at the last minute and it landed on her cheek.
‘How did it go?’ Charlotte asked.
‘As good as these things can, I suppose,’ said Lew, placing his jacket over a dining chair back and loosening his tie. ‘There were loads of people there and the wake was cheery enough. The service was a bit heavy though and very black.’
‘I want everyone to dress in light blue at my funeral,’ said Charlotte, stirring the cooking pot.
‘What did you have lined up for me then, when I had my heart attack?’ asked Lew, realising that he’d never actually asked her this question before.
‘I . . . I didn’t even think about that,’ said Charlotte. ‘I always knew you’d be fine.’
He had a sudden vision of Charlotte going shopping in Meadowhall for a very expensive black ensemble, including hat and new handbag. She’d have had her nails done black as well, he bet. Then the thought of a younger Bonnie in black knocked the image of Charlotte out of his head. He imagined her at Joel’s funeral, a picture of quiet dignity, her emphasis set on letting her lover go on to wherever he was destined rather than being the belle of the black ball.
‘I’ll go up and change,’ said Lew. ‘I might have a shower if I’ve got time.’
‘Loads,’ said Charlotte. ‘This will be half an hour at least. Oh and did I say that we’re going to Patrick and Regina’s for dinner on Saturday?’
‘Okay,’ said Lew, but he hadn’t heard her. His thoughts were still taken up with Bonnie. It sounded as if she hadn’t had a great deal of luck in life. Luck, he’d found, was not a commodity that was fairly distributed. He’d had more than his fair share: money, breaks, success, even the heart attack that didn’t kill him but gave him the wake-up call he needed to begin a career he was loving that brought him into contact with the mad, motley bunch of wonderful dealers. Charlotte would think that people like Starstruck were common and not worthy of her attention, until she found out he had a holiday home in Barbardos, of course. Even then he couldn’t see Charlotte enjoying his stories and throwing back her head and laughing at them, like Bonnie did. He couldn’t imagine Charlotte wanting to mingle with Long John and Uncle Funky or being interested in anything they sold.
She was missing out. He’d had more fun in the past three months than he had in the past three years. He loved the camaraderie of the traders, their banter, their expertise, their familial-type warmth towards each other. And most of all, he looked forward to the company of Bonnie with her brightly coloured clothes and her huge rainbow umbrella and her beautiful autumn eyes.
Lew stripped off his suit and had a shower. He turned the cold tap to full to chase away the pictures in his head of Bonnie and her lovely but sad face.