Four
Alice Jean Gowan – cherished sister, adored wife, firm friend and beloved great-aunt – dies ten days later.
It’s nothing to do with the urine infection. She recovers from that and I start believing she’ll be with us for a while to come. I let my guard down and feel happy again.
But her heart is old and tired and simply stops while she’s dozing in her favourite chair that overlooks the harbour. Alice always did hate making a fuss and she slips away without any drama.
So in the end, there’s no dreaded phone call at work or urgent dash home. I simply take her a cup of tea on a Sunday afternoon and stand frozen in the sitting room doorway, tea dripping onto the carpet when the cup slips in its saucer. Alice has gone. It’s obvious from the way her arm is hanging loose over the side of the chair and the tilt of her head, chin to chest. And when I touch her lovely face, her skin is white and cool.
Josh rings Dr Rivers and I sit by Alice, holding her hand, and wait for him to arrive. Outside, tourists are walking from the harbour into the village and their snatched conversations drift through the window and hammer home that I’ll never chat with Alice again.
We’ll never sit in the garden at the end of the day and watch a golden sun sink slowly into the sea. Or roll our eyes in mutual solidarity when Storm flies into a mega-strop and stomps out of the house.
Emily and Storm are sitting pinch-faced with shock on the bottom stair when Dr Rivers arrives and takes over. He assures us that Alice’s death was peaceful and painless, and that’s some comfort over the next few days as we go about making funeral arrangements. But we’re devastated to lose her and, though the sun is blazing outside, the house is cold with black shadows lurking in gloomy corners.
We all react to Alice’s death differently. Josh switches into practical mode, which his mum says is how he behaved sixteen years ago when his step-dad died in the Great Storm that killed seven local fishermen. Emily is permanently in tears and Storm won’t admit it, but she’s knocked for six. The usual back-chat stops and she retreats to her bedroom, only venturing out for meals that we all pick at in silence.
For me, losing Alice has stirred the same ragged, suffocating feelings of grief I experienced when Mum died. I must tell Alice, I think several times a day, when I spot an oystercatcher in the bird bath or Jennifer tells me some juicy gossip or Death In Paradise is on the telly. And there’s always an icy rush of sorrow when it hits home that she’s gone forever.
But it’s comforting that I was able to keep my promise and she died in Salt Bay among people who love her, rather than in hospital among medical staff who didn’t know her at all. The cycle of Alice Jean Gowan’s life began and ended at Tregavara House – and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Josh is brilliant from the moment the undertaker takes Alice’s body away and I collapse in floods of tears. He holds me while I cry great snotting sobs into his jumper and snivel in the dark hours of early mornings. And he comes with me to discuss plans with the funeral director who also organised the burial of my grandmother Sheila a year ago. She and my grandfather Samuel lie in Salt Bay’s tiny clifftop cemetery which will one day fall into the sea.
Alice, ever pragmatic and practical, has left detailed instructions with the funeral director and paid upfront. So there’s nothing for me to do except circulate the funeral arrangements around the village and steel myself for our final goodbye.
A strong wind is blowing over a raging sea when we all gather on the clifftop two weeks later. Almost the whole village has turned out and we’re spread like a black carpet along the cliff edge with the cemetery behind us.
The memorial service in Salt Bay Church, where Alice and her husband, David, were married five decades ago, was a beautiful celebration of a life well lived and a woman well loved. And though Alice would have grumbled at us for making a fuss – I could imagine her standing at the back of the church, arms folded – I think she would have been pleased.
Jennifer and old boy Cyril, who sings with the choir, were among the locals who stood up and shared their happy memories of Alice. And I did too. Voice shaking, I only managed to get halfway through how Alice welcomed me to my new life in Salt Bay before the lump in my throat threatened to strangle me. But Josh, tall and handsome in his coal-black suit, leapt up and held my hand while he read out the rest of my words.
Any self-composure I had left finally splintered when Salt Bay Choral Society, conducted by Josh, sang Alice’s favourite hymn, ‘Amazing Grace’. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house and even Jennifer’s solo was wobbly.
The church service marked Alice’s life anchored in Salt Bay and now, high above the village, we’re about to let her go. I hug the heavy plastic urn to my chest and deliberately turn into the squall of rain that’s stinging my face. I’m glad the heatwave has finally broken and the sun has disappeared. This is perfect Cornish weather for what we’re here to do.
Alice left us one last surprise. Everyone expected her to be buried in the clifftop cemetery next to David but she left strict instructions that she should be cremated and her name inscribed next to her beloved husband’s. So a small ceremony was held for close friends and family at the crematorium a few days ago and I collected her ashes this morning, before the memorial service began.
People were surprised by her choice of send-off but I get it. Alice loved the ever-changing ocean and Cornish countryside and, this way, she’ll be a part of the sea and the wind forever.
There’s a hush from the crowd as Josh helps me unscrew the lid of the urn and I take a few steps towards the crashing waves far below us. Toby, in a sharp black suit with a tidy goatee, steps forward too and ignores a loud tutting from Florence.
My distant cousin Toby Trebarwith has been persona non grata in the village since they discovered he fathered a child with Josh’s sister Lucy and then scarpered off to London for years. They don’t mind the sex and illegitimacy – there’s been a lot of it round here over the years apparently – but they disapprove of him not taking responsibility for his own child.
‘Christ, it’s a long way down,’ mutters Toby, swallowing hard and inching back towards Josh, who’s helping Alice’s elderly friend, Penelope, stay upright. ‘I’m not great with heights so you might need to do this on your own. The old girl wouldn’t mind.’
For a moment, I hug the urn to my chest. ‘Goodbye, darling Alice, and thank you for everything,’ I whisper, concentrating hard on not dropping the slippery damp plastic as I turn it upside down.
A stream of gritty white ash pours from the pot, is caught by the wind and dances in front of us before being whipped across the grey water. For a few moments the ashes rise and dip above the white-flecked waves before melding into the churning sea and the huge Cornish sky. Alice is gone.
We’re a bedraggled bunch, trudging down the cliffs towards the huddled houses of Salt Bay. I wouldn’t mind if the rain stopped now and sun peeped through the thick banks of grey cloud. But a good old Cornish mizzle – a soaking blend of mist and drizzle – has set in for the day. My navy-blue coat is heavy with damp and my feet are soggy.
‘This weather has totally knackered my new shoes,’ moans Storm, pushing past me and almost sliding on the wet grass. She grabs my arm to steady herself. ‘Are you feeling all right? I’m going to miss the old lady, though it was pretty sweet letting her ashes go like that so she flew across the sea. Oh. My. God!’ She stops abruptly and starts brushing the top of her head with both hands. ‘I think that’s some of her falling out of my hair.’
As she careers off, Josh links his arm through mine and pulls me in close so we match strides. ‘Just when I think she’s starting to be less annoying…’ He gives a short laugh. ‘It’s nice that your dad managed to be here.’
Barry is ahead of us, chatting with Josh’s mum and I feel a rush of affection for the ageing rocker. He’s put his best black jeans on specially and his long hair is tied back in a tidy ponytail that’s curling on his shoulder. Isn’t it funny how things change. When we met for the first time last October, I couldn’t wait to be shot of him and now I look forward to his visits.
‘It’s a good job his band has a gig in Falmouth this evening. If they were still in the Isle of Sheppey, or wherever it was they were touring last week, he’d never have made it. Apparently, this new band is his big break at last.’ I give Josh a rueful smile. ‘Anyway, Alice wouldn’t have minded if he couldn’t get here.’
‘Not ever-practical Alice,’ agrees Josh, pushing his dripping fringe out of his eyes. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted him to waste his money on the travel.’
‘True but it’s lovely to see him and I’m glad Storm and Emily are around too. The house would be too quiet without them, now Alice has gone.’
We’ve reached the gate to Tregavara House and Josh pulls me closer and kisses my damp hair. ‘You’re not on your own any more, Annie. Don’t forget that. You’ll always have me whatever happens.’